Ill Omens - A story of BETA proportions

[Harv]

A hulking figure stumbles out of the Temple of the Oracle. He staggers, nearly colliding with a nearby Enclave Delegate. She jumps a bit, startled by the far-away look in his eyes. “What ails you,” she blurts out, but the man lurches into a feeble run. Her question ignored, the Delegate watches in confusion along with several others as the man runs increasingly faster away from the Temple, shaking away the heavy effects of the Quest Fugue.

Turning to a fellow Delegate she asks, “What could that mean?” Barely hearing the question, Atlova Simmurest feels a strange sense of dread fill her as the vaguely familiar man disappears over the bridge leading to the Palace of the Houses.

Later that day within the confines of the headquarters of the Quarterstone Guard a routine meeting droned on. Periodic reports from each of the Guard Captains were covered briefly. The readiness evaluations for different posts and rounds had been discussed. Dozens of other minor details were busy finding their place in the final hour of this weekly gathering, all under the watchful eye and keen ear of the Champion Master. Halfway through a thoroughly bureaucratic report regarding the potential rearrangement of arms caches around Quarterstone, the Master’s aide Jarras Gillen entered the chamber and handed a note to the man seated at the head of the table.

For a man accustomed to the burdens of command, Merced Armadin seemed to pause an unnaturally long period of time after reading the note handed to him. This unusual pause caused a slight mutter amongst the Captains gathered in the council chambers. The week had been quiet in Quarterstone, and his reaction seemed to offer the promise (or perhaps threat) that this was about to change. The Champion Master of the Quarterstone Guard for once took no apparent notice of this breach of discipline. Finally, when the volume of the muttering had raised enough to almost become tangible, he lifted his head to look at those assembled. The unmistakable steely glint in his gaze was enough to silence them all within moments.

“I am sorry for the interruption,” Armadin said, his voice betraying only a slight tension. “I’m afraid the rest of the open matters must be discussed at a later time,” he continued. “You are all to return to your posts immediately. I want all your watch sections drilled and full inspections conducted over the coming days. We will reconvene tomorrow.” Seeing the obvious confusion on the faces of his officers, Armadin felt a touch of uncertainty, though he quickly mustered the will to bark out a short “Dismissed!”
Making their way outside in an orderly fashion, the whispers which threatened to resume were cautiously suppressed by the Captains. Though these events were strange, none amongst them wished to test the patience of the Champion Master. As the last of the men departed, Armadin called for his aide. Within a few seconds, Jarras strode purposefully into the room. Politely he stopped a couple of meters away from the council table and asked, “My Lord?”

“Please send my ‘visitor’ in, Jarras,” the warrior requested. “I’d like to know what’s so important.” Nodding quickly, the man moved back to the doors and returned to the neighboring waiting room. Armadin stood and paced towards the hearth at the opposite end of the great table, lost in thought. The noise of the doors being swept closed brought him out of his reverie. He turned at once, but instead of an agent bearing news of Pale activity or Brotherhood raids, he came face to face with a ghost from the past.

“Qeirias Noll,” he breathed. “You’ve returned to Quarterstone at last, and reports of your death have been greatly exaggerated.” Shaking his head, the Champion Master faced his predecessor and continued, “I’d thought you had at least gone off to become a Hermit in Mount of Heroes. And here you are in my Council Chambers using priority codes only known to the highest agents of the Enclave . . . or former Champion Masters.” Armadin glared at the powerful man who had once called these chambers his.

Noll returned the gaze with impassiveness that could only be but a facade. “You know as well as I do that nothing could have brought me to these chambers again unless it was of great import, Merced.” Noll stared beyond the other man into the fire then shook himself, as if waking from a bad dream. “I have come from the Oracle Temple. I sought understanding and answers.”
“Then you’ve obviously grasped what the Oracle has been asking of us for years, Qeirias,” sneered Armadin. “But what possessed you to come here of all places to share your return to the fold?”

Noll’s face flickered at the insult, but he continued, “I may not have been in Quarterstone, but I’ve also not been idle these years.” Armadin raised an eyebrow at this, but the former Champion Master ignored it. “As to the why of my return, I’ll answer it with a question: when was the last time you undertook an Ancestral Quest?”

“Though it hardly matters to you, I undertake quests at least once each month. My last was but a few days past. Why is that important?”
Noll nodded, pausing nearly long enough for Armadin to consider walking over and physically prodding him. “You are not the first I visited. I have spoken to fellow Runites about this. None of them had any answer which satisfies me.” He shuddered and then stared directly into his replacement’s eyes. ”The Oracle showed me a Shard in the Deadstorm Spell.”

“What? You said the-“

“I said the Oracle showed me a Shard, in the Storm. After the destruction of the Ancestor World,” said Noll in a flat, even tone. “I undertook battles with foes we once fought together, not with the Demon Armies. I saw the recent past, or for all I know the present or even the future!”
Merced Armadin stood speechless for a moment before managing to mutter,

“That’s not possible . . .”

“Oh it is,” Noll disagreed. “I’d of course agree with you except for the fact
that it happened to me.”

“So what does it mean?”

“Whatever it means, we’re going to need help . . . ,” mused Noll.

Armadin motioned to Noll, and the two sat together, their old rivalries nearly forgotten. Many hours later they parted, each attending to different duties. One thing was clear: the help they sought would need to come soon, and it would need to come from the young citizens of the Enclave.

A new morning greets Quarterstone, but within the Palace of the Houses there has been no rest. House Ambassadors have been in conference with Enclave Delegates, but the frantic questions posed to the Oracle by the Enclave throughout the night have been ignored by the ancient Greater Spirit. Many of the highest officials within the houses have undertaken Ancestral Quests themselves in the wee hours, all to no avail. Though some received answers, none saw the curious visions reported by Qeirias Noll.

His head pounding from the hours of questions, arguments, and bureaucratic nonsense, Qeirias Noll sat in a darkened alcove within the Palace. He’d left the company of Merced Armadin hours ago, hoping to bring his message to the Five Houses. He envied Merced a little, as the Champion Master of the Quarterstone Guard had merely to hand out orders to the City Militia’s Watchmaster Prime before heading into the Deadstorm to speak with the Peacemaker Savant, head of the Marksmen. Though the Marksmen had always been elitist in Noll’s eyes, he’d rather have headed out to Silent Child than faced the conferences here in the Palace.

He should have expected the reactions he received. Scorn, disbelief, and even outright anger had greeted him. He’d been called an old fool (though he didn’t feel that old, some of these houses had rather frighteningly young leadership) by a lithe Torque swordsman. He’d been greeted with condescending looks from a rather pretty scion of Maul. And even from his Runite brethren it felt as though they’d been more embarrassed than interested in one of their own bearing these tidings. All in all, Noll felt as though he was the proverbial messenger waiting for the dagger in the sleeve.

“Tlykarxu take them,” Noll cursed softly. He had tried to remain patient, listening to the insults as they spilled out. Some had been subtle, others blatant, but it had gone too far when the idiot from Shroud had suggested that perhaps it was better if he should “disappear” while the matter was considered. Considering the High House of Leaves usually employed a Dead Hand when they wanted a “disappearance” (and that it was often permanent) he had lost his temper completely, and only the intervention of the Guards had spared the pale, wily Shroud member from a rather final “disappearance” courtesy of Noll’s own axe.

Actually, he felt blessed to not be in prison at this point, or even facing the justice of his House . . . or worse, that of Shroud. Instead, Noll had been relieved of his weapon, and shuffled off into this waiting room. The light of the Deadstorm was growing outside, let into Quarterstone through the focal apertures. He could hear a bit more of the city in the distance as the citizens awoke and began a new day. For a moment he wished he’d not bothered to share the experiences of his Ancestral Quest, and he even thought about how nice it would have been to simply gone looking for that youngster he’d met and ask after their first experience with the Oracle. But Duty was something he’d never been able to shirk, so here he was.

The soft sound of footsteps caused Noll to tense and reach for the axe which he no longer carried. Standing quickly, he moved as far backwards into the alcove as his bulky frame would allow. If it was an assassin they’d sent, he’d make sure that this old warrior wouldn’t go easily. The tapestry opened revealing no armed Dead Hand, but rather a relatively young woman bearing a scroll. She smiled disarmingly at Noll, and offered the parchment to him without a word.

Taking the message, he began to read, while keeping an eye on the messenger herself as a matter of prudence. Within a moment his attention was drawn completely from the woman. Though there was still a tone of disbelief, the Five Houses had unanimously agreed to increase the speed of House Initiations. Not only that, but word had come from the Militia and Marksmen that preparations were being made for a state of war. A chill ran down Noll’s spine. What if he’d been wrong about what his Quest had meant? Would this episode in the Enclave’s history come to be known as Noll’s Folly?
The soft noise of the tapestry being fully opened broke into his momentary angst. The messenger gestured for him to follow her. Her Maulite House insignia was now visible in the fall of light from the lanterns and windows in the next room. “If you would be so kind as to come with me, Qeirias Noll,” she said in a melodic voice. “Many of your brethren remember you with honor still.” She smiled warmly and laughed. “My father has missed you these years, and I can still remember when you visited our house. Many of us are overjoyed to find you returned to Quarterstone.”

Noll shook off the last remnants of his doubts. Following the young woman towards the Maul quarters, he couldn’t help but smile in anticipation of another challenge. If war was to come, he’d be there once again. And at his side he’d have that youngster from the Razor Eel attack. That one and many others. He would teach them as his elders had, and there would be no second Tlykarxu, there would be no Noll’s Folly. Qeirias Noll would welcome the young, and the Enclave of the Five Sacrifices would face its enemies together with the strength of human and daevi.

MEN AND WOMEN WANTED for Perilous Duty. Unpaid, harrowing delays, long months of grueling work, chance of setbacks extreme. Glory and fame upon success. – Qeirias Noll

[Yes, I will join Noll in defending this sundered world!]

[No, I want no part of glory and everlasting fame.]