Obsidian Gate - Chapter Five

*Well, did some minor editing on Chapters Two and Three. Hope these improvements help the story along. Here's Chapter Five in the meantime and I hope you really enjoy this one*
Chapter Five:
Ominous Beginnings

- Solaris -

The priest sat in a darkened room, kneeling on the floor before a small altar, an easily lifted slab of obsidian about a foot across. What little candlelight there was barely illuminated the stark surroundings and even that was obscured by the smoke of the incense, billowing from the altar’s lit brazier. The man, however, did not seem to care. Eyes closed and stripped to his plain, white cotton briefs, he knelt in prayer. The small room with its bare wood floors, slightly chipped wash basin, small oak trunk, and simple sleeping pallet, strewn with only the plainest of white cotton linens and single pillow, might as well have been a continent away. His name was Cabal Discord and he was waiting for word from his god, Mordus.
Cabal would have been a handsome man under any normal circumstances, but harsh training and a harsh life had planted a permanent scowl on his face, pitted it with hard lines, and robbed him of some of that handsomeness. His bleach pale skin stretched over a frame that was very athletic and broad, some six feet and three inches in height. What remained of his hair had been shaved, except for one long topknot, which was braided and slung over his shoulders and hung to the middle of his back. This was as pale, fine, and snow white as his skin. His muscles were hard and lean, honed from years of hard, physical labor, training, and conditioning and his body was riddled with scars from old battles. Two particularly nasty ones stood out, a nasty diagonal cut on his cheek that had nearly taken his eye and another across his stomach that had almost spilled his intestines.
Cabal remained motionless, sweat trailing slowly down his body. His thin, pale, crescent brows twitched, as he strained and concentrated, waiting for a sign from his god that it was time to move. Finally, he felt it like an electric shock to his system and his ruby red eyes snapped open. Drawing a quick breath, the albino priest steadied himself, then corded legs the size of tree trunks pulled his broad frame to its feet.
Cabal was neither surprised nor concerned that night had fallen while he prayed and meditated. He was safe in his church’s sanctuary and none of his underlings would dare disturb his communion with his god. Stretching out his thickly corded arms, hands ending in long, tapered fingers and even longer, sharp nails that better resembled talons, plucked a simple black robe from the hook beside the door.
Slinging the robe on without bothering to belt it, Cabal quickly left his quarters and padded, barefoot, down the stone corridor, completely unconcerned with his state of dress or the few scraggly underlings he encountered along the way, who rushed to get out of his way. Cabal felt the stone slabs beneath his feet, as he padded towards his destination but heeded little else. No one impeded his progress. Only a fool would meddle in the affairs of a High Priest of Mordus without prior permission and, even then, only as far as they must. After all, to meddle in the affairs of one who worshipped the god of murder was to court death itself.
Cabal quickened his pace, rounding a corner and entering a small chamber where he found several lesser priests of his order sitting, playing cards. They all immediately rose to their feet, giving the albino High Priest respectful bows in perfect synchronicity. Cabal barely even waited to acknowledge their bows before pointing directly at one of them, an obsequious fellow with dark hair, skin, and eyes, his taloned nails stabbing at the air.
“You,” Cabal snapped, “I need you to saddle a horse immediately and ride for the city of Jinx, in Relston.”
“Immediately, My Lord,” the priest began, bowing again, “May I inquire as to-”
The albino cut his underling off with a sharp gesture.
“There’s a priest of Salazar in that city by the name of Sylus Stryfe,” he said, “I want you to find him and bring him here to me immediately. I have important information for him.”
“Right away, My Lord,” the bewildered priest stammered, bowing low again.
Without another word, Cabal turned and strode out of the room, heading for the relative privacy of his chambers, leaving the priest to his travel preparations. He had no fear that the man would fail him. Cabal trained all his people far too well for that. However, he also had serious preparations of his own to make and he wanted no interruptions while he was making them. For now, he would trust his will would be done and make ready for the tasks ahead. If his visions were as true as he guessed and he was interpreting all the signs correctly, there was much to be done. As he closed his chamber door behind him, he readied himself for the first step.

2.

~ Earth ~

Tobias Simms was a much younger man than what Al had expected. He was barely seventeen years old with wide, blue eyes and a full mop of dark, medium brown hair. He couldn’t have been taller than five seven and he had the nice tan that would develop into a genuine glow over the summer. His leg was resting up in a cast and several bruises marred his face but he was, all in all, a handsome young man. Flowers rested neatly by his bedside with his water cup, evidence of a recent visit from his mother, and he glanced up curiously as Alex entered the room.
Immediately, the detective turned on the charm. Her face lit itself up in her most dazzling smile, acting at its best. Alex knew she looked good and knew exactly what kind of effect her presence would have on the poor, unsuspecting seventeen-year-old. Something told her she’d need every inch of that appeal and charm to pull this off.
“Tobias Simms?’ she asked cheerfully.
“Yeah,” the young man said, grinning, “Please tell me you’re one of the nurses assigned to me.”
Alex chuckled a little, using the laugh she knew caught a man’s attention from a mile away, and shook her head softly.
“Unfortunately, no, but Ah would like t’ask yuh a couple questions, if y’all don’ mind.”
The southern accent seemed to throw the young man a little, appealing to his hormones, however, Simms was not a total fool and his eyes narrowed, as he regarded Alexandra with suspicion.
“You’re not a reporter, are you?”
“No an’ Ah’m not wit’ de police either.”
“Good, ‘cause I’d hate to have t’tell a pretty lady t’leave.”
“May Ah sit down?,” Alex inquired.
Tobias nodded slowly, eyeing her up and down, as she settled herself down in a chair near the bed.
“Mah name’s Alexandra Lee,” the woman began, “Ah’m wit’ de Sirens’ Detective Agency.”
“What can I do for you, Miss Lee?” Simms asked, his tone polite but guarded.
“Ah need t’know about what happened t’night,” Alex replied.
“What about it?”
Simms’s tone was almost petulant in its anger, the voice of a younger man, and it made Alex feel a bit more inclined to cut him some slack but it didn’t excuse his involvement. Alexandra Lee was not one to allow someone to get away with anything without a fight.
“That fight y’all were in earlier, Ah need t’know as much as you can tell me ‘bout what happened; how the fight started, why it started. Anythin’ you can tell me’d be much appreciated.”
The detective’s earnest efforts were met with a stony, eerie silence and, for a moment, Alex wondered if she’d misjudged the boy. Could he be more heartless than that young voice indicated? Al searched his face and saw her answer there, plain as day. Without even being aware that she was consciously making the decision, Alex switched to a different plan of attack. She sighed heavily and looked Tobias Simms in the face, honesty and sincerity pouring off of her in waves.
“Look, Ah’m tryin’ t’help a very nice young man here but, t’do dat, Ah need yoh help.”
Simms took the bait swimmingly.
“Who’re you talkin’ about?” he asked, his tone perfectly conveying the right amount of confusion and innocence. He thought he knew what Alex was trying to do but the young man had underestimated Alex’s cleverness.
“You,” she replied.
“What?”
Tobias’s mouth fell open in honest astonishment. He hadn’t seen this coming and Alex capitalized on his surprise.
“Y’all’re playin’ a dangerous game,” she said sadly.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about!” Simms exclaimed.
“You can play innocent all yuh want, honey, but we both know it ain’ true. Y’all’re runnin’ wit’ a dangerous crowd.”
“What do you mean?” Simms demanded, “You’re talkin’ nonsense.”
“Deny it all yuh want but, deep down, y’all know dey ain’ good people. Only place they’re liable t’land yuh is prison an’ y’all’re too young t’be dealin’ wit dat on yoh record.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about but you sure got a lotta nerve talkin’ about my friends like that,” Simms shot, his confusion and playacting all chased away by anger.
“A criminal record’ll haunt y’all fer de rest o’yoh life,” Alex countered, voice softening a little, “an’ a guilty conscience’s somethin’ y’all really don’ want.”
“I haven’t done anything t’feel guilty about!” Simms nearly screamed.
“You an’ yoh friends attacked a man t’night, someone who was a lot stronger than planned,” Alex continued, gently but stubbornly refusing to give up.
“That’s not true!”
“Please don’ lie, Tobias. Ah may not’ve been dere for de whole act but I saw de aftermath. That boy was beat t’Hell an’ shot wit’ silver. Dere’s no way y’all can convince me y’all jus’ happened t’have silver on hand an’ dat de lycan was stupid enough t’attack four people all by ‘imself, ‘specially when he knew y’all had silver bullets.”
“We were just defendin’ ourselves!” Tobias screamed, “The lycan rushed us! Our weapons weren’t silver an’, even if they were, he’d’ve never known that!”
“Toby, honey, no offense but y’all suck at lyin’.”
“I’m not -”
“Please, spare me, sugah. Ah treated dat man’s wounds mahself. Ah know how fast lycans heal an’ dose bullet holes didn’t close fer hours. Lycans can smell silver. He’d’ve known y’all had ‘em at about thirty feet.”
Alexandra folded her arms in impatience and she and Tobias glared at each other, attempting to stare each other down. After about five minutes, the young man finally caved and his gaze dropped dejectedly to his lap.
“You pity him, don’t you?” Simms asked softly.
“He ain’ a monster, Toby,” Alex replied gently, “He’s a livin’, breathin’, sentient bein’ who happens t’have an incurable disease. Lycanthropy’s only partially contagious and most lycans try t’have some semblance of a normal life. He’s got hobbies, loves, hates, fears, an’ faults like everyone else an’, right now, he also happens t’be in a lotta pain, so yes, Ah do pity him.”
When Tobias didn’t say anything, Al continued.
“Most lycans aren’ born dat way. Almost all of ‘em’re survivors of a horrible attack of some kind. Dey’re victims, Toby, not criminals.”
“What’s gonna happen to him?” Tobias asked quietly.
“If no one tells de truth, he's gonna go t’jail f’assault,” Al replied, “His lawyer’ll try t’save ‘em as best he can but lycans ain’t too popular. People’re too afraid of ‘em. The jury’ll probably convict, no matter what, find a way t’lock ‘em up f’good, ‘less Ah can stop it.”
Tobias’s face seemed to twitch and jerk with a range of violent emotions; intense dislike warring with pity and guilt all at once. Alexandra watched the emotions play for a moment, then delivered the crushing blow.
“Yeah, y’all sho fixed dat po’ boy good,” she said bitterly.
“What do you know about it?!” Simms screamed, “You don’t know anything about me!”
Al’s entire being simply froze for a moment. Watching Simms was like watching an echo of herself from so long ago. So young, so angry, so defiant and ready to take on the world. It brought back so many flashes from when she had been Tobias’s age that Alex had to catch her breath before old memories and emotions stirred to haunt her. Centering herself and pushing away the past violently, Alexandra looked over at Tobias with a rueful smile.
“Ah know more than y’all think,” she said softly.
Tobias looked her skeptically, all the scorn of every teenager who felt the need to rebel against authority in that one raised eyebrow. Alex responded with a rueful smile and plunged on with her story.
“When Ah was yoh age, Ah went through de same thing. Ah thought I knew who mah real friends were, thought Ah knew everythin’. Ah started hangin’ out wit de worst kinda crowd, getting’ in all kinds o’ trouble. Wasn’t til it was too late dat Ah realized mah so called “friends” were really jus’ junkies, criminals, murderers, and thieves. Ah jus’ don’ wanna see y’all go down de same path. Believe me, y’all don’ wanna have t’learn some o’ de lessons Ah did.”
“What happened?” Tobias asked, eyes wide, as he began to become interested in Al’s tale.
“Mah so called “friends”, de people who were supposed t’be mah family, put a bullet in mah skull, damn near killed me,” Alex replied, tapping the side of her head where the metal plate from her operation was.
“Why?”
“Ah fell in love wit’ de wrong man. Ah was pregnant at de time but dey didn’ care. Ah woke up six months later from a coma an’ found out Ah lost de baby, dat Ah’d never be able t’have kids. Dey shot mah fiance right in front o’ me. Blew his face clean off. Mah whole life got taken away in one moment. It almost destroyed me. Hate t’see somethin’ like dat happen t’someone else.”
Alex did her best to tell the story without losing herself to the emotions it evoked but a small part of her was screaming, recoiling from the horrible pain it all brought her to even contemplate her past. The detective focused, as much as she was able, on Tobias instead, though she could still feel her whole body shaking with the weight and horror of her revelation. Simms’s face was filled with many emotions, his eyes almost brimming over with tears, and his hand had snaked out to catch her own. There was so much compassion and uncertainty in that one touch that Alex knew she had hit her mark. For the moment, however, she was stunned and could only pray that Tobias would do the right thing.
“I’m sorry,” he said, finally, after several moments of sheer quiet, “What did you do?”
“Got de Hell outta dat part o’ de country, got mah head on straight, went t’school, got a job an’ tried t’make somethin’ of mahself,” Alex replied, “It wasn’t easy but Ah found mah real friends, real family, an’ good people willin’ t’support me. Dey helped me through. Ah turned mah life around an’ Ah know for a fact, y’all can too. Ah messed up big time an’ Ah paid de price foh it but it ain’ too late f’y’all t’get outta dis before it gets too deep.”
Tobias seemed to take this well, looking at her thoughtfully, and Alex decided to go for broke, putting everything she had into one last great argument.
“If y’all keep hangin’ wit de punks you been runnin’ wit’, it’s all gonna be over,” she said, “Ah took a peek at de files de police have on you. Y’all’re a good kid. Got a good family, good, clean, solid record. Yoh academic record’s spotless, helluva lot better den mine ever was. Y’all got a chance t’make dat wrestlin’ thing really work, get a scholarship an’ go to a good school. Why would y’all wanna jeopardize dat an’ hang out wit a buncha losers?”
“It’s not that easy,” Simms replied, “My dad’s been having a real tough time at work. They laid him off because o’ some paranormal affirmative action crap an’ he’s been real bitter about it, depressed. My mom’s had t’work extra hours just to help pay the bills and things’re really tight. I need those scholarships or I may not go t’college at all and my family needs money. Buddy o’mine told me about a way t’make some extra cash. It seemed like a great way t’bring home a little somethin’ t’help out so my mom can afford t’buy my sister some of the art supplies she needs for school.”
“Go on,” Al encouraged.
“The guy who told me about the job’s older than me, one o’the guys all the rest of us look up to. It was the coolest thing t’have him helping me out, you know.”
Al nodded.
“That’s how all de bes’ crooks work, sugah,” she said softly, “Dey always show up when you need dem de mos’ wit de answer t’yoh prayers an’ den de price dey ask in return ain’ worth it.”
Tobias bobbed his head a little in agreement, then continued.
“He seemed t’really take an interest in me, showed me everything. He introduced me t’this group personally, took me along t’these meetings, and they paid us to do all sorts of jobs. Paid us really well.”
“What kind o’jobs?”
“Illegal stuff” came the quiet reply, “Nothing too dangerous but definitely illegal.”
“Were y’all dealin’ drugs?”
“No. They wouldn’t let us touch the stuff. Thought it was too risky. It was more like collecting money from people who owed them for one reason or another, hassling some paranormal support groups, protesting mutant rights. Little things like that.”
“What group was this?” Al demanded, looking at Tobias intently.
Simms said nothing for several moments, clamming up as tightly as if he’d never spoken at all. Alex tried to outwait him but could feel a budding impatience. Every moment could cost the handsome stranger his freedom and this boy was her only link to his possible salvation. Al leaned forward then, all but begging.
“Toby, honey, please. Ah need t’know.”
Simms hung his head, then answered so softly that Alexandra could barely hear him.
“AFH.”
“What on Earth’s a straight “A” student like y’all doin’ wit Advocates For Humanity?!” Alex gasped.
“I told you. I needed the money,” Tobias replied, a bit on the defensive now.
“Honey, no amount o’ money or gold’s worth what AFH demands in return an’ no one who’s really yoh friend would ever ask y’all t’join a buncha mean, hatemongers like dem! Who got y’all int’dis anyway?”
Tobias went so silent for so long that Alexandra was afraid she had pushed him too far. Gently, she prompted him again, trying to shut down her own sense of rising frustration and panic. Simms merely crossed his arms and shook his head.
“I can’t sell out my friends like that.”
“Dey’re about t’frame an innocent man foh assault,” Alex exclaimed, “’Dat don’ sound like friends t’me. Worst part is, y’all’re helpin’ ‘em do it by protectin’ them.”
Simms’s face seemed to crack a little at that and Al went in for the kill.
“At worst, de police’re gonna question y’all an’ it’s only a matter o’ time ‘fore one o’ y’all cracks. You think yoh friends’re gonna stick by yuh when all dey gotta do’s turn you in an’ dey go scott free? Dey’ll let y’all hang in dere place den pretend nothin’ ever happened. At best, dey gonna drag you down wit dem. Y’all jus’ gonna sit dere and let it happen?”
“What d’you want me t’do?!” Simms finally cried, putting his head in his hands.
“Cooperate. Tell de truth. Give de police what dey need an’ free dat innocent man y’all helped put b’hind bars.”
“What good’ll that do?”
“Y’all’re a good kid, Tobias,” Al replied, “Give de cops what dey need an’ dey might be willin’ t’make a deal, ‘specially if y’all’re willin’ t’testify.”
Simms seemed to sit there forever, just digesting Alexandra’s words. When he finally did speak, it was with sincerity and emotion.
“Elias Woodrove talked me into joining AFH a couple months ago. We were out with some of our friends an’ we saw that guy. We thought he was a mutant at first ‘cause of his skin and ears, then when we saw how fast he was, we realized he was a lycan. We all freaked an’ jumped ‘em. Woodrove was the one who shot him an’ hid the weapons, said we should frame ‘em.’
“Y’all willin’ t’tell the whole story t’the cops?” Al asked softly.
“Will Elias and the others go t’jail?’
“Probably.”
“What about me?’
“That’s up t’the police an’ the judge but Ah’m pretty sure, given yoh record, dey’ll be willin’ t’make a deal.”
“Will that guy go free, the lycan, I mean?” Tobias asked.
“Wit’ yoh help an’ a little luck, yeah.”
Tobias bit his lower lip, as if finally making up his mind, then nodded.
“Okay.”
“Thanks, Toby,” Alex said smiling.
She leaned over and gently gave the young man a chaste kiss on the cheek. The boy’s face turned a lovely shade of pinkish red and Alexandra practically skipped, as she waved goodbye to the boy and exited the room. O’Brian and Landen were waiting there with Sarah and Marissa, pacing and gnashing their teeth like a couple of wolves in a cage. Their heads jerked up when Alex exited the room and she smiled.
“He’ll talk.”

3.

-Elsewhere on Solaris -

Sylus Stryfe stared up at the carved image before him and smiled, brushing a shock of his dishwater blonde hair out of his face. It was cut short and slicked back to avoid getting in the priest’s way but sweat from toil and exertion had wetted it down again, leaving the locks to their own devices. His face was not a handsome one. Rather, it was the kind of visage one would forget in an instant, the kind that would become easily lost in a crowd. This was something that Sylus had always greatly appreciated when he needed to blend in, however, the effects of all the work he had been doing were not appreciated at all. Sweat also ran freely down his bare, narrow, defined chest, lanky arms, and lithe legs. It was not yet summer but the priest wore only simple black pants at the moment. His most recent work had taken quite a toll and, though his skin remained the pale tint of most Corubadins, there were several dark patches, where sun and weather had made their mark.
It had taken several months’ worth of planning and execution but the homage the priest had been planning to his god, Salazar, was finally done. Though he wasn’t much of a sculptor, the statue he’d just finished chiseling out of a piece of granite had turned out better than expected. The idol had a slightly bluish cast to it, as the stone that it was made of had been quarried from far off Shadira, where it was rumored you could quarry almost any stone of any color. The stone was now shaped into a seven foot tall man with short hair, nondescript clothes, and dark, beady eyes that seemed to hint at shifty behavior. The smile the creature bore was a smirk, cold, cruel, spiteful, malicious, and mean. It only seemed to heighten his sleaziness.
“Not a bad likeness, considering my feeble talents,” Sylus thought, smiling as he recalled the stunned faces of the gold dwarves guarding the caravan, when they had realized that their entire shipment of granite had been hijacked right under their noses.
The idol sat now on a wooden pedestal where Sylus had been working on it. The room around him was small and mostly barren, left empty so that whoever entered would have room to work. The bare suth wood floors were cold and black under Sylus’s feet but he barely noticed. The stones that made the rest of the room and structure served well enough to keep him warm.
Sylus reached forward to take hold of the newly made statue and place it in the main part of the church where everyone would be able to admire it, when a hand seized his shoulder roughly, spinning him around. The startled priest instantly went for one of the many daggers secreted on his person but was halted by a wicked looking kukri blade pressed hard to his throat.
Sylus froze, hands neutral at his sides, not wanting to upset the wielder of the oddly curved blades. He tried to turn his head and the blade at his throat pressed in a bit sharper in response. The priest gasped but remained still, noting the black clad arm that held him in place. Before he could demand to know who was daring to threaten him, a black clad figure stepped out from the shadows. He was covered from head to toe, hands clasped behind his back, and calm as could be. Sylus could see nothing of his face and form, except that he was somewhat taller than Sylus, who was five nine. The man’s outfit appeared to be of a vaguely Eastern design, like the ninja clans of far off Ryusaka, however, Sylus highly doubted the man was actually of that racial stock, given his height. The stranger carried himself with all the demeanor of a king and was, undoubtably, younger than Sylus’s 35 years, and the priest had no intention of startling him.
“Good evening, Shadowmaster Stryfe,” the man said, addressing Sylus formally by his Church title, “I trust we have your attention.”
“Undivided.”
“Good,” the man said, not a hint of any accent betraying his origin, “We bring a message from our Deathdealer, Cabal Discord.”
“What does my cousin want?” Sylus demanded, recognizing both the title and the name.
“To meet,” came the reply, “He has several things he wishes to discuss with you, things we are not privy to, so don’t bother asking. You will have to ask him for yourself.”
“Fine,” Sylus muttered, exasperated, “Where does he want to meet?”
“His private chapel, in Perkyn,” the man replied.
Sylus’s dark hazel brown eyes took in the man’s entire appearance and demeanor, memorizing what little there was to see. Then, with an offhanded smirk, the priest glanced around at his captors.
“Certainly an odd way for dear ol’ Cabal to ask for a favor,” he mused out loud, “Wouldn’t put most people in a mind to help him at all.”
The knife about his throat tightened a bit and the man to whom he had been speaking hissed in anger.
“You, sneak thief, have no right to question his authority at all!” he snarled.
Sylus’s face darkened immeasurably and he flung his reply at his uninvited guests with such ferocity that they both froze in their tracks.
“And you, gentlemen, should know better than to accost a high priest in his own church!”
Before either man could say a word, several small crossbow bolts flew at them from out of nowhere. The man holding Sylus tried to duck and use the priest as a shield at the same time but failed miserably. He caught two bolts directly to the back before he had the chance to even finish a single movement. The man who had done all the talking sprouted two bolts as well from his right leg, not far from his knees. His head whipped around but, despite desperate searching, he could not find the shooter.
Sylus smoothly dodged out of the way of the lumbering intruders and drew two of his favorite throwing knives, as he fell into an easy, defensive stance. The knives were Baatorian green steel, sharper than the sharpest blade on the mortal realm, and glowed with an angry light, as the priest regarded his attackers stoicly. They attempted to draw weapons as well but stumbled and collapsed to their knees, unable to move further.
“Now, gentlemen, take a message back to Cabal for me, will you?” he said casually, “Tell him I will meet him where he wishes three weeks from now at sunset, but not a moment sooner, and if he ever attempts to summon me in such a crude manner again, we shall soon see which of us is the deadlier. Do you understand, gentlemen?”
The intruders looked at each other for a moment, then back at Sylus, then nodded subtly.
“Good, now please remove yourselves from my church,” Sylus said coldly, “I never want to hear from either of you again.”
Both men simply nodded and gingerly pulled themselves to their feet, supporting each other haphazardly. Then, in a flash of light and shadow, they were gone, leaving Sylus to smile and contemplate what he had learned. After a moment, the priest simply heaved a sigh and glanced around at the room. He knew his servant, who was a nezumi, or ratling, was hidden somewhere nearby.
“You can come out now, Rodolfo,” Sylus said quietly.
It did not take long for the rat-like creature to respond. From the shadows in the rafters, a small bipedal figure finally emerged and jaunted silently to the priest’s side. He was an odd creature, standing barely two and a half feet tall, covered from head to toe in jet black fur, except for the small hands and feet, and the two foot length of solid, pink tinged tissue that was his tail. His beady little black eyes regarded Sylus thoughtfully and he carried in his oddly shaped, clawed hands a small hand crossbow with several darts ready to be shot. All-in-all, he resembled a rat on two legs with clothing on. How in the Nine Hells the creature’s hands, feet, and tail were prehensile, Sylus didn’t know. All he knew was that this particular creature was useful.
Rodolfo’s pinkish tinged ears flattened on top of his head, as he approached Sylus. The nezumi did not like the priest one little bit, Sylus was certain, but he still retained a degree of loyalty that the man could not expect out of anyone else. Rodolfo’s tiny pink nose and ghostly whiskers, far more sensitive than any nose or ears most humans could hope to have, twitched a bit, showing the young ratling’s irritation. No doubt he was upset at having to come to his master’s whim, yet again, but Sylus really did not care. Other than his annoying habit of dressing in garishly bright colored human clothes, the priest found the nezumi dead useful and pleasant, when he wasn’t bitching about being a slave, of course.
Today it seemed Rodolfo had outdone himself with his wardrobe. He was dressed in the height of nezumi fashion, glaringly bright yellow tunic, breeches, pants, cape, and fancy little hat, all done in simple cotton material. If not for the crudeness of the cloth, however, Rodolfo could have passed for the height of fashion anywhere in Avalonea. No doubt the modest faux gold scrollwork on his collar and cuffs would have pegged him for the servant of some well-to-do nobleman. His black leather boots, though well worn, were highly polished, as were the mithril rapier and dagger that Sylus permitted him to wear at his sides. He wore the orange and white feathers in his hat with jaunty pride, as if daring Sylus to chide him for it, and his face bore a rather human expression of annoyance, distaste, and weary acceptance.
“Pack supplies for three weeks’ worth of traveling and make sure my best robes are somewhere in my haversack,” Sylus replied, speaking softly in Nezu, the creature‘s native tongue, “We’re going to Perkyn, in Freeport. You and I are going to find out what my dear cousin and his detestable crew are up to.”
Rodolfo sighed wearily, then nodded.
“Yes, Master,” the ratling said quietly, then, with another small sigh, he turned quickly to obey.
Sylus, meanwhile, had already forgotten the nezumi’s presence as soon as he had dismissed him. His mind was already occupied going over any and every reason he could think of that Cabal Discord would willingly lower himself to speak with a member of the Church of Salazar. Frowning, the priest soon gave up contemplating what his wicked cousin could be up to and decided to simply see what happened when he arrived in Perkyn. Promising himself that he would keep an eye open, the priest turned back to his statue and picked it up, as he headed for the main chapel. All knowledge would come in time but his god rarely waited for any man.