Speaker 1: Hey, folks, see to hear Maddie and I have caught
the funk that is currently going around our town and
has been ripping up our coworkers and friends and family.
So getting an episode edited and sent out and illustrated
this week was simply not in the cards for us.
Thank you for your patients. As per USU. When we
have a bye week, I'm going to go ahead and
post the next chapter of Tattered Pawns, my novel the
audiobook format narrated by mister Nick Mercer. I want to
take this time to remind you as well that I
have a new book coming out. It is called The
Memory Thief. It is part of the Chronicles of the
Crossing campaign which is coming to backer Kit on October
fifteenth by Storyteller's Forge. You may know them from The
Red Opera, The Black Ballad, and other amazing tabletop gaming settings,
World's Adventures, etc. With many more on the horizon. Articles
of the Crossing includes my novel, The Memory Thief, three
other novels from other amazing authors, and some Black Ballad
gaming goodness. It is a book club in a box
for your TTRPG party October fifteenth, Backer Kit. Check that out.
Links will be in the down below. Thank you for
your patients as we recuperate this week, and we will
see you all next time.
Speaker 2: Chapter four. It was almost dusk by the time I
neared the manor grounds, perfect I killed time by scouting
what I could from outside the Count's walls. The bastard
had always insisted on meeting me as far away from
his pristina state as possible, but now I managed to
get a decent idea of how the place was laid
out enough to know where to start. At least. I
approached a few minutes after the sun dipped below the horizon.
Post dusk light place hell on your night vision, and
I figured it would give me an edge on any
particularly vigilant guardsman. The outer wall was fairly low, though
judging by the faint glyphs etched into the stone work,
it was heavily enchanted to keep out intruders, not a
problem for me. I was over in a few seconds.
I was surprised by the lack of foot patrols on
the lawn or around the wall, but it made sense.
After the Count's heavy losses in the battle against the Magus,
his house guard would be further thinned if he wasn't home,
as he customarily traveled with at least a dozen lackeys
to wipe his ass whenever he needed. The grounds were unmanned.
I crept up to the grandiose, white marble behemoth of
a main house and around the side. That's where I
saw the first guard. He stood there, idle and bored, indifferently,
scanning the grounds in front of him. I crept past
when he glanced off in the other direction, my footsteps
muffled in the wet grass. I found an unwatched servant's
door tucked into an alcove around the corner from the
lone sentry. It was a simple lock, and simple locks
had stopped being an obstacle for me early in life.
I slipped inside. I'd give myself minutes tops to snatch
what I could carry and be off the premises. Firm
opinions on contractual obligations aside. There was only so much
risk I was willing to tolerate for a grudge. I
never would have attempted anything this elaborate with some of
my client tele but I'd seen the Count's crew at work,
and I was comfortable indulging in a brief vendetta. The
scant few professionals among them were retired cell swords long
past their modest prime, and the rest were the disfavored
nephews and cousins of local lords, given a shiny breastplate
and a job in the ruling house to keep them
out of the way. Ten on one. They were happy
to push around a peasant or throw a pariah out
into the rain. But I didn't think they could slow
me down for a second if I came across them
in ones and twos, especially now that the magis had vaporized.
Speaker 1: The best of them.
Speaker 2: I pulled an empty burlap sack from my pack and
stalked through the manor, stuffing any trinket that looked to
be of decent value inside as I went. I wasn't
concerned about the monetary worth. The fifty gold rods the
Count had generously paid me would be more than enough
for me to survive off of for some time, But
we'd agreed on two fifty. God's damn it. If I
wasn't gonna get it, the Count was at least going
to know he'd paid for something involuntarily. Once or twice,
I had to duck into an alcove or side room
to avoid being spotted, but on the whole it was
smooth sailing. I decided to use the servants halls to
head deeper into the compound, where I suspected the good
stuff would be. A random servant was less likely to
question a stranger than a guard or a family member,
or so I hoped. The route took me out of
the house proper, through the stables and kennels. I heard
shouting and thought for an instant that I'd been discovered,
but there was no one within view. The racket was
coming from an intersection up ahead, between rows of empty
horse stalls. Curious, I peeked around the corner to see
what the commotion was about. A bulbous man in dirty
clothes and a leather apron was shouting angry commands, snapping
a riding crop at something I couldn't see. I leaned
out further that bastard he was cracking the crop into
a dog that had apparently committed some minor offense. The
poor thing fled instoo, each stinging snap ripping into its
sleek coat, bringing tiny rivulets of blood to the surface.
But the dog never once whimpered or made a noise.
Bright brown eyes stared defiantly back at his tormentor. Rage
boiled up in my chest. I'd seen that scenario played
out in a thousand parallels throughout my own life. The
dog's perseverance was infuriating his handler as much as any
actual transgression. At this point, he was being punished simply
because the previous punishment hadn't been harsh enough. The naked,
one sided unfairness of the confrontation struck a nerve. The
bully and the literal underdog. Call it projecting, but in
that moment, I was feeling invested. I stepped from my
hiding place and walked right up behind the man. Excuse me.
I tapped his shoulder as he raised his arm for
another swing. Startled, he wheeled about who A savage right
hook silenced whatever he had been about to say.
Speaker 1: Next.
Speaker 2: He reeled back, gasping, and then tried to lunge at me.
I snapped my fingers and sent my O washing over him.
He staggered as the alien sensation ran through him, cutting
him off from the permeating background presence of the ether,
and missed his swipe. I cracked an elbow into his face.
He had the misfortune to remain coherent after he hit
the floor, so I kicked him until the situation resolved itself.
Feeling satisfied and more than a little self righteous, I
turned to the hound. It was a handsome animal, if
I was any judge, I recognized it as some kind
of hunting breed, similar to others I'd seen among the
local nobility. Damned expensive, of course, I'd once heard a
salesman claim that they had some magic stock way back
in the pedigree, but I think he was just trying
to turn puppies into copper. The dog had a slick
brown and white coat, built deep and strong in the chest,
but thin and lean towards the hips. He yes, definitely male.
I saw was a big fellow, coming up to my
waist even while he sat and judging by how out
of proportion his paws looked, he wasn't done growing yet.
He stared at me intently. After a second, he glanced
down to the unconscious man, then back up to me.
I'd have sworn I could see him taking stock of
the situation and processing new information. His tail twitched. I
crouched down and offered the back of my hand for him.
To sniff. He obliged me for a second before lunging
forward to plant a big, old slobbery doggy leg on
my face. Oh Ugh, you're welcome, I grumbled, trying to
wipe the slabber off. I took a look at the
damage the asshole had inflicted. Doesn't look too serious, I
told the pooch frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if you've
had worse around here. The dog cocked his head to
the side, listening, if not understanding. I leaned down and
untied the leash in leather collar around his neck. Look, buddy,
I told him, it's your call, but if it was me,
i'd get out of here. The dog looked my hand
and patted off, giving my leg a shoulder check that
made me stumble as he went tail wagging. He disappeared
around the corner and down the hall, out toward the
great barn doors that led out of the stables. I
had no idea what the pup would do next, but
I had my own set of problems to worry about.
I resumed my hunt. The servants corridors wound all throughout
the estate, and I poked my head out regularly to
get my bearings. I was downright giddy when I spied
a set of ostentatious golden laid double doors. Based on
my rough guess as to where I was, I felt
sure that I'd found the Count's private chambers excellent. Not
seeing any one around, I strode right up to the doors.
Some of the filigree camouflaged the distinctive shapes of glyphs,
similar in function to the perimoral wall outside, not that
I cared. Being an end made can be a real
bitch sometimes, but it does have its perks. I turned
the handle and went inside without incident. The room was
exactly the treasured trove i'd been hoping for. I stuffed
my loot bag as full as I dared with jewelry
and currency bars someone had left lying around. The confidence
born of having an impenetrable magic door, I suppose my
payday secured, I engaged in petty vandalism. I started by
carving don't fuck with an inmage into a very expensive
looking ebony armoir and went from there. I was midway
through the process of sketching an artful mustache onto an
oil panting of the Count's mother balancing a top of
vanity to reach it. When I heard a commotion at
the door, I whirled, jumping down and doing my damnedest
not to WinCE as I landed awkwardly on my foot.
A lone guard stood in the doorway, sword drawn. I
snapped my fingers and sent my aura rushing over him.
He staggered, but recovered much quicker than I appreciated, flashing
me a wicked grin. Not good at all. I took
a second look at him, watching with mounting alarm as
he twirled his broadsword in an intricate and menacing display. Belatedly,
I spotted the distinctive red sash looped around his waist.
I groaned inwardly. That sash denoted a man at arms
of the first Order, probably a recent addition to replenace
the Count's losses. The men at arms Order spent years
pursuing mastery of their chosen weapons with a borderline religious fervor,
and their skills did not come cheap, but the Count
could afford it. Worst of all, the bulk of their
training was conducted without the use of any magic. Negating
his eldritch abilities would not phase this fellow, and I
doubted I was his equal in fair combat. No reason
to fight fair, then I'm not unskilled myself with the
profession I'm in. I whipped my sword out of its
scabbard and launched into a big, flashy, swirly display. It
was fluff tactically worthless, but it set me up for
the big trick. I leaped into a spin, arking my
blade around me and hurling it across the room. It
tumbled through the air towards the swordsmen. The man at
arms sidestepped it easily, and my trusty sword buried its
tip in the ensorceled wood of the bedroom door. He
cast me a contemptuous look and began to stride toward me,
intent on mayhem. I pulled my aura back in as
close as I could. The door exploded in a blinding
discharge of energies. The swordsman was shocked, batter and launched
through the air by the blast. He hit the wall
and crumpled. Those same violent energies washed over me with
no effect. Ha I barked, snatching up the plunder and
making my escape, pausing only for a moment to recover
my sword. It was slightly warped and glowing orange in
a number of places. I cursed it would take the
attention of a half decent blacksmith to get it back
into serviceable condition, and I didn't anticipate that happening anytime soon.
I decided I had overstayed my welcome and began making
my way back through the manner. I chuckled in spite
of myself. Poor guy was going to be hurting tomorrow.
Nobody ever sees the glyfh thing coming. Magic at its
most basic level, works by the will of the cast.
Raw power is pulled out of the ether and shaped
to some desired goal for a one off spell. The
caster can use themselves as the conduent, employing various techniques
or tools depending on how they learned the craft. That's
where we get magic wands and wizard staves and the
boiling blood of your enemy's firstborn sons and all that
fun stuff. But in order to set up a permanent effect,
like say, a magically sealed doorway, the most common method
is to inscribe glyphs or runes, enchanting them with a
perpetuating force that keeps reiterating the caster's original intent. This
makes a glyph a direct channel into the ether, constantly
pulling in energy for its task, catastrophically damaging one under
normal circumstances is hard. Straddling the line between the material
world and the ether like they are. Maybe you'll manage
to ding it up, and it'll just peter out, sputtering
energy until the spell is unraveled and useless. It's like
poking a hole in a bucket. Water goes where it's
not supposed to, but eventually it'll drain, and the bucket
won't fill up even if you keep pouring water in.
But if your local endmage is the one doing it, well,
imagine you could snap your fingers, take all the water
out of the bucket, and then smash the bucket to pieces.
Then you put all the water back at once, everybody
gets wet. That metaphor got away from me. Putting the
glyphs on Count Pompous's bedroom door inside my aura cut
them off from the ether, rendering the door no more
spectacular or resilient than any normal hunk of wood. Smashing
a blade into them disrupted the careful, intricately laid out patterns,
but since they were already inert, there was no natural
fall off in the energy flow. When I pulled my
aura back, I released the flood, and the ether dumped
power into a shattered vessel with aversive consequences for my
red sashed friend. My luck held out for the next
few minutes. The commotion sent a lot of people rushing
about and creating a handy distraction for someone intent on
slipping off in the opposite direction. I made it to
the entrance unmolested. The guard stationed there had been drawn
away by the alarms behind me, and I took advantage
bolting for the door. I slipped through and found myself
in a grand courtyard, complete with a gaudy fountain set
in the center of a circular cobblestone drive that ran
right up to the doors. The fountain was a siren
called a mischief, but I had pressed my luck enough
for one evening. I slipped into the shrubbery and shadows
along the perimeter and crept forward. Once I got to
the edge of the building, it would be a quick
dash to the outer wall. I hit the dirt when
I spied a coach bouncing up the drive. It rattled
past me faster than seemed safe. I recognized the banner
streaming above it. The count had come home well that
was suboptimal. I weighed my options. A mad dash off
the grounds had even chances of succeeding, but I'd almost
certainly be spotted. Ample moonlight wasn't working in my favor.
A heated pursuit through the city didn't sound appealing. I
wanted to be at a safe distance before anyone sorted
out the confusion. That in mind, it seemed a better
bet to lie low for a few moments while everyone
in the count's contingent went inside to investigate the clamor,
if I was lucky, even the coach's teamsters would peek
in and I'd have a moment free from wandering eyes.
The coach just sat doors closed.
Speaker 1: Come on, I mouthed, what are you.
Speaker 2: Even doing, you bastard? Go inside? A supernatural chill washed
over me, all frozen guts and pure primal fear. I
snapped my gaze around and saw a second coach careening
towards the house at an even more reckless speed. It
was the black coach from the night before, with its
mad hunched driver howling at his team of frothing, frenzied horses.
Dread burrowed into the core of my being as I
remembered the deathly gaze of the hooded occupants, and I
had hoped to avoid a repeat encounter. Ever, I steeled myself,
forcing calm, wait, let them do their business, then slip
away simple. The black coach rattled to a halt behind
the counts, the horses snarling more than they winnied or snorted.
The Count's team, by contrast, was tranquil, beyond what I'd expect,
even from trained animals. Finally, the door of Grendisian's coach opened.
Several bodyguards stepped out, followed by the pompous, cheating blowhard himself.
Peering through the bushes, I had trouble making out much,
but their body language seemed detached. They milled about for
a moment, then went still. I couldn't stop myself. I
risked inching to the side to get a better view.
I spied the Count's face. His expression was slack, and
his skin seemed pallid even in the moonlight. His eyes
were milky, dead gods and furies. The black coach opened.
Out stepped the same pair I'd seen outside the tavern,
one childlike, one tall, both robed and hooded beyond all
further recognition. The Count and the poor bastards who had
served him all acted on an unspoken command in unison,
and they began shambling as one. A few made their
listless way into the manner. The rest began to spread out,
looking like they intended to comb the grounds for something
for me. Perhaps that was an egocentric conclusion to jump to,
but it seemed prudent at the time, regardless as to
whether I was the object of their search, I did
not want to be found. The fates, as is so
often the case, failed to consider my desires. I was
discovered immediately. One of the former guards shuffled right past
where I lay. How he found me was a mystery,
because he reacted to my presence before his dead gaze
swept down. I had no time nor inclination to figure
it out. He emitted a gargling, tortured groan and lunged
straight at me. The noise attracted the attention of everything
in the courtyard. The Hell's with that? I kicked out
as he advanced, hooking one foot around the back of
his knee and driving my other heel into his hip. Shambling,
undead corpse thing or not. Leverage is a bitch, he
fell backwards, not even trying to catch himself. That horrific
groan never missed a beat. I scrambled to my feet,
acutely aware of the fact that my trusty's sword had
been reduced to little more than slag with a handle. Well,
use what you'd got. I snapped my fingers, dumping as
much will and panic into my aura as I could.
It's an almost physical force when I'm feeling motivated, and
the situation was certainly inspiring. A few of the zombie
guardsmen were knocked off their feet, whether from the force
of the aura or the severing of whatever spellcraft was
controlling them, I couldn't say. The lumbering corpses standing or
not lost direction. A few still shuffled aimlessly, but most
just stopped where they were. Small victories. The hooded nightmares, however,
weren't nearly as incapacitated as I'd have hoped. They muttered
to each other in some dark foreign tongue. The short
one seemed to be giving orders. I blinked, and then
the taller one was inches away. I jumped, despite myself.
Nothing should be allowed to move that fast. A hand
shot toward me, looking for a hold. Luck saved me
as much as reflex. The figure missed the grab, and
I launched a wild punch in response. It was sloppy form,
but it connected solidly where the figure's chins should have
been and barely flinched. I felt like I'd punched a
wall shit storms and blighted furioues. I cursed, dancing back
out of reach before lunging in to throw a kick
at the figure's kneecaps. I don't care how tough you are,
it doesn't take much to ruin those. Evidently my logic
was flawed. My opponent didn't even try to evade, just
watched in amusement as my foot bounced off. I was baffled.
No protective spell could have been in play, not against me.
Armor maybe, but that should have been obvious. A thunderous
roar sounded behind me, and I damn near soiled myself.
A blur of brown and white rushed past, slamming into
my attacker's chest. I heard enraged snarls and saw flashing teeth. Again,
I don't care who you are. Leverage is a bitch.
My opponent went down under a hundred pounds of pissed
off canine. The same pooch I'd bailed out earlier had
come back to settle his account. I was thankful for
the interruption, but I knew the situation was hopeless. Already
the hooded menace was recovering and trying to force the
dog off, and there was no telling what unpleasantness its
shorter companion might yet bring to bear. Time to leave,
I turned tail and sprinted. I left my bag of
plunder not worth the weight behind me. I heard commotion
and furious threatening bellows from the dog, louder than they
had any right to be. I felt a presence hot
on my heels, and a sidelong glance revealed, to my
immense relief that it was my fuzzy new companion, keeping
pace and periodically doubling back to visit his bidy wrath
on any pursuit. Somehow rereached the wall. Panic and adrenaline
put me over it without as much as a thought.
I landed hard on the other side, wincing in pain.
But I could worry about my ankles when I wasn't
about to be dead. Live now sort the details out later.
I ripped my ruined sword from its scavern and turned
on the wall. I hacked and chopped with a vengeance,
disrupting the lines of power in every ruin and glyph
I could reach. The hound cleared the wall with a
mighty leap. As I finished, I tackled him, pulling him
as close as I could, I drew my aura in
the wording spells on the Count's wall were an order
of magnitude above those that had sealed the doors to
his chambers, and I'd ruined as many as I could reach.
Power slammed back into them, and as I withdrew my
will erratically bursting into the physical realm where the careful
spell lines had been wrecked, the wall detonated. Light and
fury washed over us, blinding and deafening. My aura shielded
the pooch and I from the worst, though the heat
was still noticeable. It was over in a second, but
the damage was devastating. Everything within thirty yards of the
wall on either side was scorched beyond recognition. There must
have been some sort of chain reaction, because as far
as I could see, the carnage seemed to extend around
the whole perimeter of the property, not just the part
I damaged. Black and furious, I breathed, choking on the soot.
The dog had frozen in my embrace, eyes wide weight,
Leaning into me, he let out a worried, interrogative wine.
Most of the buildings closest to the Count's estate were
on fire. Alarmed shouts were coming from all directions. I
heard panic, screams and sounds of terror, even over the
rising den drifting on the wind from the direction of
the Count's compound. I locked gazes with the pooch. We
need to leave now. He seems to agree. We didn't
stop running for a long time.