∈Abandoned Cellar, Ethlas, Emuniah Empire∋

Eros awoke and everything was dark. The far too familiar metallic taste of blood was on his lips. Water dripped nearby accompanied by soft whispers too faint to hear. He lifted his head letting out a soft groan of pain as aching pain all over flooded his awareness. A deep breath sent a stabbing arc up his left side. The pain flared again as he righted himself in the chair. His head swimming with the motion. He had to calm himself, breathing steadily he let the nasuea pass. It wasn't until he pulled at his arms that he realized they were tied. They prickled as blood returned to his numbed hands. He barely saw the flickering of lamp light through a black covering on his head. Breathing, focusing his dulled mind he let the myriad sensations pass over him, letting himself fall into that state of calm he'd learned to master when first learning to channel. He listened, carefully, he could just make out the two men speaking in Amuneshi at the far end of the room.

"Com'on Morris... We gots the gold, let's just take the money and leave em tied up. I don’t like the look of them lines on em." The man had a thick voice with a slow quality to it, like a man who'd drunk far too much, far too often. From their  outlines in the dim light he could see the man talking had a pudgy build. He was still nearly a head taller than the other man. The smaller man reached up and slapped him across the face and he shrunk in on himself clutching at his stinging face. "Oww what was that for?"

"Do ya know how much a Channeler is worth to the right people Hestin? Some of them Alchari Mystics will give their second born for a living Channeler to dissect. We deliver the abomination, we get paid, then we retire to the Nornlands, rich as a Pharaoh's son. Just like we planned." Morris said, his voice nasally voice dripped with a vile hatred that worried Eros more than the cut in his side and his swimming head combined.

“So we haulin him back cross the desert? It's so hot there Morris.”

The men went on bickering as Eros racked his mind. What in the Nine Hells of Deth happened last night? Last thing he remembered was drinks at the Inn with Nalee and Jepsum. He vaguely remembered heading out on the delivery for Scant. The blood was pooling in his mouth, turning his stomach, he opened his mouth and let it dribble down his chin and onto his bare chest. He could feel deep cuts inside his cheeks, probably from a beating by the thick one over there.

He felt the cords binding him and felt the itchy curls of hempen rope. Well that good, they tied me with rope, I can easily burn them off. Instinctively summoning the power that always sat round his neck. He tried to focus it into a command to his shade, Deamos, but no power came. He reached out with his mind grasping at the trinket of power that was no longer there. The conduit was gone! Panic consumed him as he reached out with his mind, desperate to make contact with Deamos.

He was nearby, Eros could at least feel that much, but something about the connection felt wrong. The shade felt faint. Distant. As if Eros was calling to him from the bottom of a well, a well he was drowning in. All he could hear from Deamos was faint clipped words, all muffles with a strange echoed reverberation trailing after. Usually their shared connection was as clear as talking to a friend sitting beside you at the tavern. Albeit a crowded tavern, though it was nothing like this. It felt... broken.

"Where are you Deamos?!? I need you!" he nearly shouted out loud as the fear writhing through him laced itself into the message. "Blasted ninth circle, you devil spawn, where are you!" Panic was flooding his mind, tainting the thought with fear as he tugged uselessly at the bonds. The two men in front had their backs to him, one held up a glowing cylinder inspecting it carefully.

“This here's, a pleasant little surprise, throw in his tainted hide. Hestin!" Morris said, licking his lips eagerly. "That Alchari Lord'll give us land and title for turnin em over, I'd bet my ever livin' soul on it.”

The bulkier man, Hestin, reached up and scratched his head as he inspected the glowing object. 

"What is it?" Hestin asked.

"This is one of them Channeler trinkets those Engineers play with, you know, like the stories; an artifact left by the Gods created in the formation of the world. 'member the time we was in Tarnash on that job? It was for that old bloke, one with the frizzy white hair?" Morris said gesturing to his bald head.

"Oh yea, yea he paid us to take a chest from those Archi-whats-it's, right?" Hestin replied.

"The words Ark-e-olo-gist, you fool." he said. Then he elbowed Hestin, a wicked smile on his face. "Oh-ho!" He exclaimed. "You remember that one girl I found there? She wore one of them long white robes..." he trailed off, his eyes distant in recollection. Hestin nodded slowly a distracted look on his face.

"Wait didn't that ol' dodders workshop explode? Is why we high tailed it out so fast." Hestin said looking at the light in Morris' hand. He took a measured step back shrinking nervously.

"This don't look like anything we found in that chest... an I doubt some Channeler would just walk around carrying somethin dangerous round his neck." Morris said.

“But he don't look like any ol' Channeler I ever seen, just look at those tattoos, hes-” Hestin turned to inspect Eros and lurched back, stopping mid sentence. “Morris! He’s awake.”

“Khalisst” Morris cursed. Striding over ripping off the black covering. Eros blinked at the sudden brightness glancing at his captors. Morris was bald with a few days stubble on his chin. A white scar sliced though the stubble on the right side. He sneered in disgust at Eros.

“So boy, how's it feel gettin knocked down a peg or two by a couple of mortals?” Morris said, filling the last words with all the spite he could muster.

“It feels great.” Eros started, some blood caught in his throat and he coughed the last word. With difficulty he cleared his throat, hacking and coughing more than he would have liked. Morris smirked, enjoying the moment.

"Deamos where are you!?" Eros called frantically within his mind. The only response he heard was Morris.

“Well how about I make you a deal, little Godson, you play nice and come with us quietly and I won’t beat more Gods given sense into you. Sous Chette?”

“DEAMOS!!” Eros screamed in his mind, pleading.

“Almost... there...” Daemos said mentally. The thought was saturated with a sensation like being trapped under a boulder.

“Thank the Gods.” Eros said. He focused his mind consolidating some images and sounds. It showed him tied to a chair, bleeding, with men around him in a dark place. He focused as much of his surroundings into the crude mindscape before sharing it with Deamos.

CRACK!

Eros' head reeled, hard wood connecting with the side of the face. More blood spurt from his mouth and some trickled down the side of his head from a new gash in his head. His eye ignited with further pain as blood got into it.

“I asked you a question, defiled little gutter slop.” Morris said coldly. He was holding a small club in his hand readying another swing. Eros tried to blink the blood from his eyes.

“Fine! Whatever you want!” he said. He needed to buy himself just a little more time. He saw the man readying the short club for another swing. Jerking to the side Eros was able to move just enough to take the brunt of the blow on his shoulder instead of his neck or head.

“That didn’t sound nearly convincing enough, you wanna try again?” Morris said. Hestin stood behind him, his hands raised near his chin like a pugilist in a defensive position. He wore a look of horror as he watched Eros getting beaten.

“You best listen.” Hestin said tremulously. Then suddenly he felt Deamos push into his mind again, the crushing sensation following.

"Give me... distraction..." Deamos said. Without thinking Eros kicked out his leg trying to trip up the bald man. But he was too slow. Morris backed away from him easily, laughing.

"You're gunna have to do better that that little Godson." Morris chuckled. "Here like this." Morris kicked out landing the tip of his boot in Eros' shin. He jerked back at the sharp pain sucking air through his teeth.

Out of the corner of his eye a small black figure rocketed across the floor. He heard the sound of tearing flesh and metal on stone. The black figure slipped from the shadows. It was a small black cat, a silver dagger whipping lythly at the end of its tail as it flicked back and forth. The cat ran behind the two men, it's sharppened tail digging deep into the flesh of the mens heels. They screamed dropping to their knees as blood leaked onto the floor. Then Eros flet the tug of the blade on the ropes that bound him.

"Nine Hells Deamos, what took so long!?" Eros said. The cat let out a exasperated meow. Then the ropes snapped letting Eros pull free. Morris and Hestin writhed on the ground in pain, he could hear Hestin blubbering about creatures of the hallowed dark. Eros winced at the sting of the cat claws as Deamos climbed up onto his shoulder.

Morris pulled himself slowly across the floor, working is way toward the satchel sitting against the wall. Eros walked alongside him pulling back his leg, kicking the struggling man squarely in the side of the head.

"I feel a whole-" He kicked "-lot better now." he said. Morris swung wildly with the club. So Eros stomped on the mans hand. Morris screamed and dropped the club cradling his hand. Snatching up the club Eros turned from the crawling man who let out a curse as he continued his belly crawl to the satchel.

"Now where is it?" Eros said to noone in particular. Peering around he found the glowing cylinder of light resting on the blood splattered floor by the chair. Snatching it up he placed it over his neck. As the Conduit touched his chest an intricate Tattoo began to fill with a golden yellow light. The lines of the tattoos ran all around his body, they feed into various circular patterns, each with their own intricate rune etched onto his skin. The small motes of light seemed to travel through the lines, like the steady coursing of blood through veins. 

"Lets heal me up Deamos." He said inbibing the mental command with the power he felt radiating from the conduit. Instantly a Rune on his left pectoral began to glow with a blue light and the yellow motes quickened causing him to buzz with light. He felt the power restoring him, the euphoria that came with the power easing his anxiety. His wounds glowed faintly as the lights within him knit the flesh back together. 

He could hear Hestin quietly sobbing, curled up on the ground. He kept apologizing over and over again through the sobs. Eros felt a jolt of pitty for the man who had nearly helped kill him. eros felt , then Deamos' mind came flooding back to him and he could feel him clearly.

"Thank you Deamos." Eros said, the mental thought conveying a caring embrace.

"It is my duty and honor to serve you." Came his mental reply.

Morris reached into the satchel by the door and rolled over pointing a small crossbow at Eros. He pulled the trigger and the bolt whiped through the air thudding into Eros' stomach. Eros looked down at the bolt sticking from his gut and grabbed hold of it firmly before pulling it from his body.

"Heal that please Deamos." He said mentally. The rune on his left peck glowed again and the wound quickly sealed, he could feel the power working inside him repairing his innards.

Holding the bolt in his hand, covered in blood. He strode over to where Morris lay a look of shock on his face, the bruises along his sides and face shifted from deep purple to yellow then to skin color as he walked.

"Please don't kill me" Morris pleaded. Eros ignored his words. He needed to know who was behind this. At first it had seemed a coinsidence, a mugging gone wrong in one city, falsly imprisoned in another, but now this. Eros had a growing suspicion that someone was after him, and he needed to know who, and why.

"Who sent you?" Eros said in a firm tone.

"N-Noone sent us." Morris said.

"Summon fire please Deamos" He mentally commanded his shade. Reaching out the rune on his palm began to glow, then small jets of yellow light swirled into a small ball. It burst into a small flame hovering above his hand, the small yellow sphere in the heart of it radiated an intense heat. He held it in front of Morris' face as the sweat trickled down the mans forehead.

"I will only ask once more, Who sent you?" Eros said.

"W-we wasn't sent, we noticed you in the market." Morris said shielding his eyes from the bright flame.

"Burn him Deamos." he said sending the mental command. The ball of flame shot from his hand and the small orb within began to spread over the mans body. He screamed but only for a few moments, Everywhere the fire touched the mans body ignited before quickly turing to ash. Soon all that was left of the man was a mass of soot on the gound. The smoke made Eros' eyes water and the smell churned his stomach.

Hestin was curled up on the ground in a small pool of his own blood. The wound to his heel visible from his curled up position. Eros squatted next to him patting him on the shoulder. 

"You'll be fine theif." Eros said. "Heal that please Deamos." he said with a mental command. He reached down touching the exposed skin of the mans calf with a finger. The rune on his chest lit and the yellow light flowed from his finger into the man and a fait light glowed in his boots. The man stiffled his sobs and slowly sat up, his face red with tears and snot running from his nose. He looked over at the pile of ashes that was once Morris and nearly broke into tears again.

"Now... Hestin is it?" Eros asked taking on a calm tone. Hestin shook his head slowly. "I need you to do me a favor, I need to know who sent you." Hestin looked over at the ash again and sniffed rubbing the snot from his face with his sleeve before looking back at Eros.

"I didn't get a name, but he wore those headgarbs those Amuni priests wear. And we met him in one of those underground buryin places out at Chiros. He wanted you alive, fer a good price too! Was gunna pay us 2,000 Pieces once we got back." Hestin said.

Eros looked at the man, he couldn't deny he felt pitty for the fool. He was probably carted along by the other one for a long time as a hill of muscles to look intimidating.

"Would you like me to consume him as well?" Deamos asked in his mind.

"I think we will need him Deamos. The only way were going to stop these hunters is by tracking down the source. This man could potentiall identify whoever sent them and give us a few more threads to chase. This is the best lead weve had in 2 passings now." Eros said mentally.

Eros reached out a hand to the redfaced man. He looked at it as if it was a snake and back away with a start.

"Comeon, I'll need you." Eros said pushing out his hand futher. Hestin eyed the ashs again and grabbed hold tentativly. Eros helped him to his feet and he looked around the room.

"Where are my cloths?" Eros asked. His cloak and shirt were nowhere to be seen. Hestin walked over to the corner of the room and picked up his linen shirt. The front buttons had been cut off and it was covered in blood. He threw it on and tied the cloak around him trying to hide the blood as best he could.

"And the gold?" Eros said. Hestin quietly pulled the sack of coins from the satchel and handed it to Eros. He tied it around his belt at his side and walked to the door. Hestin stood there in the middle of the room as Eros peeked out the door. They were in a cellar of some kind, the stairway outside the door led glowed in the morning light. He looked back at Hestin who was still standing there with a dumbfounded look on his face, holding the satchel to his chest, just staring at the pile of ash on the ground.

"Well come on Hestin, lets get moving while the Chariots high." Eros said climbing the stairs, Hestin trailing behind like a lost puppy.

∈Mirage Inn, Ethlas, Emuniah Empire∋

The sky over the village of Ethlas was just beginning to brighten. The village skyline filled with winding dust covered streets. Small square homes made of sandstone with only a few stories on the largest of the buildings. The pride of Ethlas was the massive circular market square where traders from beyond the mountains to the east and west halted their travels of the trade routes of Amunarr for respite. The Village served as the first speck of civilization after leaving Chiros to the south and following the Ettin Mountain Ranges that skirted the Insclad Desert. This strech of sandy road was often called the path of Deth by travelers who knew all too well the dangers of the exposed and barren route that had claim far too many lives.

Caravaneers rolled out of the wooden bunks of the Mirage Inn, packing their things, waking themselves, and filling their bellies. A round jovial man could be heard taking meal orders from the dining travelers as he bustled between the kitchen and tables. Most of the Wagoneers shared the well tanned skin and cracked lips of those who had suffered through the Inscald desert to the south. A couple of them made the joval man think of boiled crab, a dish he would often make for his patrons. A few hours outside the village and the sun on rock would cook eggs faster than a pan.

A few of the travelers bathed out behind the Inn. The Amenesh Heiro for Braizer glowing softly on the copper plates set into the side of the wooden tubs. Water bubbled, bursting to steam where the copper plate contacted the water. The Heiro was laid into the copper using some black substance, the whole plate being about a hands breadth on either side. The symbol at its center was similar to the Maltese cross used in some sects of Kahlisstism, except the top of the cross morphed into a single flame, a small trail of smoke forming into the circle that encompassed it.

If you looked closely in the morning light you would see small pockets of Gold Light moving along the lines that ran in parrellel sets from the Heiro. The lights moved like little ants marching along the path of their siblings though much faster. At regular intervals a pair would move around the circle and down the lines of power. Following the lines they would lead from tub to tub until they disappeared through the wall of the Inn before reemerging on the other side of the bath house, running the path once again.

An hour later the sun had risen, a bright orange orb hanging over the mountains due east. The wagoneers were now forming up waiting for the Caravan leaders instructions, most idly passed the time chatting as they waited for Scant. A man of nearly 40 Passings, he stood up on the back of one of the wagons. He wore a thin fur cloak similar to the thicker coats the Norns wore in winter, it rested over one shoulder. On his head was a wide brimmed grey hat that dipped and curved to help keep rainwater and sun off his face. Thick tufts of black hair stuck out at varied angles from under the hat. His green eyes danced back and forth across papers in his hand as the group quietly chatted. Looking up from the documents he cleared his throat.

"Well we have fared well these past weeks, our travel from capital was one of the safest we have ever had. Crossing the Inscald is no simple feat, you carried yourselves well making excellent time considering the unfortunate delay." The last words drew low mutterings from the crowd as they recalled the night a flying beast had carried away one of the gaurds keeping watch. Scant had halted the caravan dispatching a group of Guardsmen to track down the poor man, but they found nothing. Risking a few trade deals due to a late arrival he had held out longer than was expected of him. He had known it was a slim chance at best, so when nothing, not even a body turned up, they moved on, leaving another behind. 

"As a reward for the hard work and timely arrival I am giving out a bonus weeks pay to everyone in the Caravan." Murmers of approval rippled through the crowd.

"We will be traveling another week through the Tearna Forests. Reports from the local Vizier indicate that a Tribe of Tuskmen has been raiding caravans passing through the Forests so we will need to be on high alert for them." Scant looked at Bellit, his head of the Guards who nodded.

"After that it should be another two weeks through the mountains before we reach Mareechi. Any questions?" he said.

A Geaclish woman with orange curly hair and freckels raised her hand.

"Yes, Nalee?"

"Would you mind if I put together a collection for Meemnars family back in Chiros?" she said softly.

Scant thought back to the screams that awoke him in the desert the week before. Seeing a dark winged figure outlined by moonlight carrying a slumpped body off into the night. He shuddered inside at the thought.

"Yes of course. I will be adding Meemnars wages for the rest of the trip to the pool as well. Anyone looking to contribute please speak with Nalee." Some in the crowd gave somber nods of approval, two made their way to Nalee as the Scant continued.

"If there is nothing else lets get these wagons stowed for the road, we want to be out of this village by midday. Dismissed!" Scant barked the last word and the wagon hands bustled away to their wagons.

The wagons were arranged side by side along the outer edge of the Market in Ethlas. This near the Norttin Lake the landscape had shifted into trees and plant life, a blessed repreieve after the long hot days they had just spent traveling through the Inscald Desert. Ethlas was near to a large mountain river that fed into the Norttin Lake, the low thunderous rumbling of its rapids could be heard in the distance. Dust kicked up across the square as the early patrons of the market bustled among the stalls. Most were aready open, some of the vendors had begun calling their wares to the passers as they wandered though the square.

Scant looked at the line of Wagons, the five looked beaten and battered from the long days spent rolling across the landscapes of Amunarr. Scant always called them 'well used' if pressed on their appearance, but they were quite reliable transportation, they also served him and his crew well during the attacks that were all too common in his line of work. He ran his hands along the side of one feeling the holes that pocked the side of the wagon. Old battle woundsfrom when a band of tuskmen had tried to take their wagons. His horses drank deeply from a trough of rainwater outiside the Inn that edged the market square. He sat there marveling at the results of years of work had had put into this outfit. All the planning, the late nights pushing on, the grulling days spent in the sun, the deaths of many friends along the way.

He was approaching the 15th passing since he had first embarked on the road with his brother, leaving behind their mother in Mareechi. They had pooled their wages after working the mines, setting aside enough for their mother to manage the home while they were out on the road. Mining had been hard work, but it was honest work. A miner could make a decent living as long as they could keep working, the labor was not kind to the body, he learned this very early watching the few older men of Mareechi hobbling along bent and broken by the work.

He remembered the hovel that their father had scrimped and saved for when they were children. That damp mold smell that permiated the air, a result of the perpetually leaky roofs and the ever constant mists of rain and grey sky. Those long nights of drink and conversation, him and his brother sitting at that wobbly table, planning their escape from their dreary mountain home. Oh Brother I wish you could see this, Scant thought to himself. You always talked of owning our own wagon train. Well, we finally did it... at long last.

As Scant reminisced a squat round bellied man made his way through the comotion of the busy caravan. His face was red as he jostled aside the wagon hands, he gripped a piece of paper tight in hand as he went. Scant recognized the merchant as he had, just the day before, purchased his newest wagon from the man. In fact just last night they had dinned at the merchants home to celebrate the trade deal between them. Why was he making such a show now? He could be aiming to haggle some more coin out of me before the caravan departed he thought to himself.

"Gripsol! What a pleasent surprise, what brings you out on such a fine..." Gripsol cut him off.

"Save yer liars tongue fer the judge you soft bellied toad." His face reddened and he waved the paper at Scant. "You promised me 700 pieces and the three slaves for that there wagon." He pointed a thick finger at it.

Scant looked at the wagon. It had been a damned good deal, the reach of the Wagon was broken so they couldn't hook both of the axels together to better manage inclines. And one of the wheel rims was cracked and would need replacing in the near future. For 700 Amenesh Pieces it was a good deal, he had thrown a few of his slaves in to barter the price down that low. Scant looked at the man thuorghly puzzled.

"I assure you Gripsol, as soon as I left your home I dispatched our caravan channeler to deliver the funds." Scant loathed entrusting so much of his investment to his channeler, Ethlas was not as safe as it had been in previous passings. But Amuni Decorum in the ways of trade required that funds be exchanged by servants or by paying one of the many exchange houses to complete the delivery. Delivering the money himself to Gripsols home would have been taken as well as if he'd unrinated in a flower vase in the mans foyer.

"He should have delivered the funds as promised, maybe he got lost..." 

Gripsols face kept its beat red tint as he yelled at Scant. Amenesh merchants were particlarily verbose people. Scant had met many on the road, and they all seemed to be caught up in an ages old competition with one another. Namely to see who could barter loudest, and who could curate the loudest of reputations. He knew that you only had to fear an Amenesh Merchant when they went quiet and still, threats of legal involvement usually followed suit. Gripsol leaned in closer and Scant could see a glob of spit hanging precariously from his lip.

"I want my money before Ra crosses the sky this day or I will have your head." Gripsol said with a quiet certanty.

Scant nodded at the man, too worried to say something that might reignite his anger. Gripsol turned and waddled away, his Amenesh cloak trailing in the dirt, Scant looked around the crowd of caravan workers, searching for the boy covered in black lines and runes. He couldn't find him so he picked out Nalee, one of his scribes, taking notes on a piece of parchment, feathered end of her quill fluttering as she wrote.

"Nalee!" Scant shouted. She looked up, finishing her writing before coming to meet with him.

"I was just finishing the count on the Nectar barrels, we should..." Scant cut her off.

"Good Good," he said dismissivly, "I need to know, have you seen Eros since last night?"

"Umm I saw him leaving the Inn, but I haven't seen him since last night. Come to think of it," she paused flipping through the pages of her notebook "yea, he wasn't at role call this morning either."

"Thank you" Scant said, "finish up the inventory do what you can to get the wagons ready to go. DO NOT that wagon to horses! The last thing I want is the Amenesh authorities out here." He knew Gripsol would not take kindly to the sight of his wagon hooked up to a horse. Understadably so seeing as how it looked as if a foreign trader was trying to cut and run on a deal over dinner.

"Yes Roadmaster." She said as she turned back to the wagons.

Scant scoured the crowd of wagoneers for Eros' mop head of hair. Not that lacked trust in Nalee, it was always best to put extra eyes on a task, especially one so vital.

"Damnit boy where did you get off to now?" Scant whispered to himself.

He called out to two of the Guardsmen who were helping load the wagons, he gestured them over before set off through the busy market square.

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