Chapter Two-Hundred Sixty-Five |
Kennith Ridgeward
It’s difficult to keep himself focused as he travels. He’s usually very aware of what he should do next, as his home in the Holds is delightfully stable and secure. Gnomes aren’t especially common in the holds, but as a Head Priest of Order, he enjoys a much-needed role in writing and enforcing contracts. In the Holds, it’s easy to keep abreast of what is brewing, and so be prepared to enforce order so whatever happens does so smoothly.
Which only made the dream vision all the more strange. While he enjoys gazing upon his Lord’s tesseract form, his spatial affinity allowing him to appreciate it better than most, it was still a surprise to receive His direct attention.
“Go to the dungeon called Southwood, and from there continue underground to the town of Silvervein. There, you will find the agent of a fledgling god, as well as a trapped being that is of interest to me. The fledgling has agreed to give me the being, though he is unable to deliver it himself. Finalize the deal.”
As with the rare other occasions he’s been able to meet his Lord directly, the meeting was short and to the point. When he awoke, a quick visit to the local Dungeoneers got him the location of the Southwood. While he is positive Order has priests closer, it seems he’s the closest with spatial affinity, as the trapped being implies a need for such.
The journey will not be a simple one, but at least he knows ways to make it less complex. With winter quickly waning, normal travel is picking back up, but there are precious few routes to the Southwood, it would seem. He could trek through the Principalities and then through the Wanderlands, but going by road through the two nations can be tricky at best. The Principalities are often the least stable at the end of winter and beginning of spring, with the factions probing and maneuvering, acting on plans forged in the cold of winter. The orcs of the Wanderlands are usually a friendly lot, but there are always a few tribes who failed to prepare properly for the cold months and look to make their mistake someone else’s problem.
The more stable route is close to twice the distance, however. He could follow the Whitefall River past Meeting and up the Gofnar River, across Lake Gofnar, and up the Also-Gofnar River, but such a trip will be slow and expensive. His Lord may be patient, but Kennith would prefer not to test said patience.
Well, what sort of spatial affinity wielder would he be if he didn’t have methods of getting where he needs to? For a journey such as this, he has just the answer. He really should try to reconnect with Syertly one of these days. The pair of boots they made together really are a wonder, even if the elf doesn’t much care for Order. Nobody is perfect, and he has a unique sense of humor that Kennith sometimes misses.
Perhaps he can swing by the elven capital after this mission is over. If it goes smoothly, he should be able to spend almost a week there before he’ll need to come back and bless any contracts. The dwarves prefer to prepare contracts over winter and sign in the spring, which should line up nicely.
The speed, combined with elevation, lets him easily take the straight path through the Principalities and Wanderlands without worry of interference. By the time anyone can notice him, he’s already well past them and vanishing in the distance.
Unfortunately, the view from above gets rather boring after a while, even for someone who most would say thrives in boring conditions. Which is why his mind wanders as he travels, thinking about the details of what he will need to do.
From the Dungeoneer packet on the Southwood, it’s a toybox that is rather friendly, so long as one gives the Voice proper respect. It also has a rather large territory, which is surely why Lord Order sent him there, first. It will be a simple landmark to find, and he may even be able to get additional information from the Voice. If Lord Order has an interest nearby, the Southwood is likely to be at least vaguely aware of it.
Especially if a fledgling god is involved. Such a thing is usually far more important than the almost casual way his Lord spoke, possibly implying how much more important the trapped being is than the new god. He finds it difficult to imagine something like that, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.
He finds his thoughts wander to the mystery as he travels, often being the last thing he remembers before falling asleep, and the first thing in his head when he wakes in the mornings. As he nears the Southwood, he senses something that shoves aside his musings on the situation, something that might give him an actual clue as to what’s happening: he senses a working of spatial affinity.
He’s glad he noticed it, too, as his thoughts had absorbed him enough he was actually off course to find the Southwood! He has drifted southward, and would have missed the dungeon entirely if he hadn’t found the interesting construct of space.
The working itself is simple, just a contraction of space to lessen the distance between points. The size of it, however, is impressive. He can also tell there was a mind towards concealment in its design. It would easily be unnoticed by most, but to someone with Spatial affinity, it’s rather obvious.
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He checks his map and sees it should take him right to the Southwood, so he decides to swap to a pair of more ordinary boots and sample the path to the dungeon. He has to make his own entrance, but he is courteous enough to close it up behind him. Whoever made it didn’t want people to just barge in, so it would be rude to let others follow in Kennith’s footsteps.
The path is pleasant and well made, and while the compression could be improved, the vast distance it spans makes it difficult to critique too harshly. In only half an hour, he reaches the end, and is surprised to find a bevy of activity awaiting him in normal space. A train of wagons sits just inside the border of the Southwood, with dozens of people milling around. Ratkin and spiderkin abound, though there is also a healthy representation of elves, dwarves, and a smattering of other races.
Perhaps more surprising are the throngs of dungeon denizens milling around, too. The Dungeoneers didn’t mention even half of the varieties present in the Southwood information. If it weren’t for how casual everyone is being, Kennith would be worried. He’s still wary, but the order of the gathering helps put him at ease. It could certainly be more organized, but an effort is being made, at least.
A fellow gnome notices Kennith and waves him forward with a smile, so he moves to see what information he can glean. As he nears, the other gnome speaks up.
“Hey! I hope you’re not from the Guild! You missed all the fun, snail!”
“Fun?” Kennith asks.
“Yeah! We beat the Maw like a week ago! You can still delve the Southwood if you want, but there’s not a whole lot else to do now.”
"The Maw? “I’m sorry, but I’m not here for any Maw. Do you happen to know the way to Silvervein?”
The other gnome gives Kennith a confused look. “You want to go to Silvervein, but don’t know about the Maw?”
There is clearly more going on than Lord Order said. “I’ve been sent by Lord Order to meet with a fledgeling god and receive a delivery. I don’t know much about the situation, other than I should get to Silvervein.”
The gnome whistles at that. “Order himself? Thedeim attracts a lot of attention. Well, the short version is there was a nasty dungeon deep in a hole past the Southwood, and Thedeim decided to help out and get rid of it. There’s a town down there, too, SIlvervein, and the Shieldies are helping the people there get used to doing things without an overbearing crazy dungeon breathing down their necks.”
“Can you guide me to Silvervein?”
The gnome shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m headed back to Fourdock for some relaxation after all this. You can probably find Rocky around somewhere, though. He can probably help. He’s one of Thedeim’s scions, can’t miss him: zombie in bright shorts with big padded gloves.”
Kennith furrows his brows at that. “A zombie scion? And nobody is concerned about that?”
He shrugs. “Nah, Rocky’s a great guy. You’ll see.” He inhales before speaking loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear. “Hey, anyone know where Rocky is? This guy needs help getting to Silvervein!”
“He’s talking with the Stag! That way!” comes a voice from beyond where Kennith can see, but the pointing is copied by various people close by, giving him a heading. He nods and raises his own voice.
“Thank you!”
He heads deeper into the dungeon, and soon hears the gentle chiming of bells in the breeze, and a voice at a casual volume. He speaks up before he can understand what’s being said, not wanting to appear to be spying.
“Excuse me! Is… is Rocky there? I was told he could help me get to Silvervein!”
The bells take on a harsher tone for a few moments before they calm, and Kennith can hear footsteps through the trees, nearing him. Soon, he sees the Stag, Voice of the Southwood, as well as what must be Rocky.
Despite being told about the zombie in bright shorts, his mental image could hardly have been further off. This zombie is no slow shambling corpse. Instead of the usual emaciated form of a zombie, this one it fit and toned even with the obvious signs of being undead. It doesn’t shamble, but rather walks with a lightness that speaks of mobility, and rather than empty milky eyes, the ones peering at Kennith are full of intelligence, and oddly empty of malice.
The same can’t be said of the eyes of the Stag, who seems unhappy at being interrupted. “What business do you have of Sir Rocky?”
It takes Kennith a moment to get over the contrast of the two scions, before he answers. “I have been sent by Lord Order to retrieve something from Silvervein.”
The Stag squints at him, but Rocky’s eyes widen before he pats the Stag’s withers with a gloved hand and grunts.
“He is expected?”
Rocky grunts again, and the Stag shakes his head.
“Allow me, then. I understand that the main tunnel is large enough for even my horns to pass without issue. You can take that mana back, and I can expedition to see what has transpired for my Lord to see personally.”
Rocky grunts once more, and the Stag nods with a smile. “I am sure. You and lord Thedeim have helped my Lord immensely. Guiding him is the least I can do.”
Rocky grunts one last time and pats his withers once more, before casually walking past Kennith, who is still trying to comprehend what he just witnessed. The Southwood should be hostile towards any undead, let alone a scion from another dungeon! Yet it seems genuinely fond of the scion, and appreciative of its master.
Kennith shakes his head and offers the Stag a bow. “I apologize for interrupting your discussion, but Lord Order personally asked me to do this, so I am anxious to see it done.”
The Stag eyes him for a few moments before exhaling and nodding. “I understand. When my Lord gives me a task, I pursue it with all haste. While I would prefer to talk more with Rocky, I will doubtlessly see him again. I may even get to visit him at lord Thedeim’s territory soon.” The Stag looks wistful for a few moments before refocusing on the gnome before him.
“For now, let us go. How quickly can you travel, gnome?”
“Give me a moment to put on different boots, and I am certain I can keep up.”
The Stag smiles at that. “Excellent. If we make haste, we should arrive at the tunnel entrance in less than an hour. If you fall behind, I will return for you. Let me know when you are ready.”
Despite himself, Kennith smiles as well. He really does need to get in touch with Syertly after all this, even if only to let him know how the boots compare to a powerful dungeon scion.
