Tamers of Everlain: A Firm Hand Conquers the Wicked Land [closed for Yhorm]

[Strictdaddy1]

[Closed for Yhorm the Spanker]

The flat-bottomed barge had finally pulled into dock, after a day and night of wending its way through the Rooty Swamp which separated Weiland to the east and Gilkallen -- where they were docking -- to the west. The Ocean of Storms lay north, south, and west of Gilkallen; but that could not be seen at present. At this place, only the chilly bog behind them and the forested land in front were visible.

The barge polesman moved back from the front of the vessel, tying it off to the dock as he went. He glanced up at his passengers and their cargo, and quickly bowed as he caught the drover of the wagon looking at him as he passed. A polite waist-bow from a sitting position was the response he was given.

Scrambling, the polesman finished, then moved back to the bow in order to remove the pegs holding the slanted board which would allow the passengers and their wagon to disembark when lowered. He stepped aside.

Tashir al Dalasin, the reins of the horses negligently held in his left hand as he sat on the right side of the drover's bench, clucked his tongue once, and the wagon moved forward. As it came up beside the polesman, Tashir said "Op! Op!" in order to bring the wagon to a halt. He reached for a pouch at his belt, and began fishing in it.

The polesman stole a glance at the wagon. Anyone in Everlain, let alone the country of Gilkallen, could see that this was a Tamer's wagon. If the wards and fetishes carved and inlaid along the wooden sides weren't enough, the blood-red countercharms and sorcerous cryptics sewn into the upside-down-U-shaped canopy over the top were a dead giveaway; secrets thousands of years old went into them, and no one had attempted the subterfuge of being a Tamer in hundreds of years, since the so-called Emperor of Lalantia's failed attempt at world domination. The skull of a monstrous beast, painted with symbols ancient and holy, was only further confirmation as it sat on a spike off the back end of the wagon.

"Honored one," the polesman protested, "You paid your passage fee before we began. There is no need -- "

Tashir interrupted the polesman with a wave of his calloused hand; three coppers held in his fingers. "The need is that I know the local tax collectors will still try to charge you for this passage, though the custom is that when you transport Tamers you do not pay such taxes. Allow me to lessen your burden."

The polesman didn't need to be told twice; he reached out and snatched the coins with a swift hand while the other doffed his cap, revealing red hair to match his pale and freckled skin. "Thank you, Honored one. I wish I knew of more in the interior; but, as I said last night, I have heard of no Takings. They might know more in Owlton; it is half a day's wagon ride on that road."

"Many thanks," came the reply, and a cluck of the tongue sent the horses forward again. As the wagon came off the barge and onto the road, Tashir's concentration was on driving. But as they started down the road, he glanced to his left at his companion. Her apple-colored hair, braided and just long enough to reach around the back of her neck and touch her clavicle, was lustrous and perfect despite a night spent in the wagon. The side of a black sash, pulled over one eye, was visible; Tashir knew this to be an affectation; though she was a pretty girl, the wound which had almost cost her an eye had left a scar which she despised being seen by all and sundry. It was a subterfuge which had worked to their advantage before, so Tashir had never made an issue of it. Tall and muscular for a woman, she was clad in simple leather armor with a woolen, olive-colored cloak over the top; the broach which held the cloak in place was adorned in many protective symbols.

She had come to him, after Mistress Aleshar had been crippled and had joined the Grand Conclave (and had hence become a Grand Mistress) and left him without a partner and superior, at the rank of Apprentice. Though, at the time, he had earned the rank of Sojourner -- just one step below Master -- he had in many ways felt like an Aspirant again; not that his subordinate would ever know, since he had taken charge as Mistress Aleshar had so long ago with him. In the short time since they had been traveling together, he had -- on more than one occasion -- glimpsed the tattoo she bore on her tongue of an incubus; many Tamers bore -- not only the scars -- but the symbols of their first great challenges.

Now a Master himself (due in large part to the first Taker they had Tamed, and the people they had freed ), Tashir kept his own counsel; Aleshar had done the same when he first came to her. Cold. He thought. Wet. Not like my dessert homeland of Tygep at all; is there even any sand in this place? Have the Gods allowed the locals to lose their way since Korrika and her Sojourner came to Tame? Out loud, he observed, then asked of his apprentice, "You've been quiet all night, Amber. Why?"

[Dungeon]

The woman adjusted her cloak, cursing herself for not dressing warmer. Her home in Dunshire had never once been anything less than chilly, so the sudden cold of their journey had taken her by surprise. Amber truly longed to be seated at her usual table in the Barrelhaven Tavern, sipping that blessed Mead. Grell was the only brewer in all of Everlain that could make drink for the Roricksteads, a notorious family of heavy weights that Amber was proud to call herself a part of.

She was torn from her thoughts of home by her Master, who seemed unaffected by the change in temperature. Amber admired Tashir in many ways, but she also held a bit of resentment for him. Tashir was famous amongst the other Tamer Apprentices, and Amber felt compelled to surpass him. Foolishly, she attempted to Tame a lone demoness that had taken refugee in a forest. Amber entered the forest and was immediately overpowered and thrashed, Her body drained of its resistance from the Incubus Kiss.

Amber cleared her throat, not wanting to seem rude in front of Tashir. "I'm fine. Simply reliving past failures in my head. You'd know not much of that, correct?" Sarcasm was one of Amber's main forms of communication, but she usually had more respect (and sense) not to talk badly to Tashir. She was a bit grumpy from the ride and the cold, but that was still no reason to snap. Her hand rose, fingers sliding softly along the sash covering her shame. "I won't repeat that mistake, Tashir. This beast shall fall."

[Strictdaddy1]

Tashir scowled, his olive skin darkening with umbrage at her sarcasm as his dark brown eyes narrowed. Never one to be considered a handsome man, with his heavy brow and bulbous nose, an old reminder of his own early recklessness -- four parallel scars running down his left cheek and barely concealed by his oiled, braided black beard -- made his face look more like that of a reaver than a man on a holy and good mission. He absently brushed at it, making the desiccated pinky finger wrapped in old linen which had been made into a dangling earring sway before he answered, his voice becoming husky as it came from his very broad chest with clear warning.

"Apprentice Rorickstead, we all have failures to learn from in our lives," the man of average height asked the only slightly-less-tall youngster. "So I'll thank you to not repeat the mistake of speaking to me in that manner again, unless you'd like your britches down for a lesson in manners at the end of a switch from yon forest.

"As to your earlier mistake; it was not simply the fact that you went alone. It was that you did not prepare. Remember, from the Catechisms: 'An unprepared Tamer is a failed Tamer,'" he went on, waving his right hand out in front of them, towards the deep forest of Gilkallen which they were entering. "Just now, you said 'beast.' We do not know yet if it is beast, or enchanted, or undead, or fallen, or netherworlder, or outsider. You saw me cast the bones; it warned of a need of us in this direction. Details won't become clear until we can ask the right questions, and in the right place. We'll need the soil of Gilkallen to throw the bones upon to find out what we need to know, so we do not walk into a trap, like Joralla the Fool did in ancient times."

Time for a surprise for my young hothead, the man thought as he ran his calloused fingers through the graying temples of his black, shoulder-length hair, and said, "Which is why, once we know the question, you will be casting the bones."

[Dungeon]

Amber rolled her eyes, out of Tashir's view of course. She hated when he talked down to her like this, it was demeaning. Sure, she was several seasons his junior, but they were still on a common mission. I thought respect went both ways, she thought to herself. At the threat of a switching, Amber completely turned away from Tashir, hiding her blush. Her Master was no stranger to discipline, and his belief that misbehaving in any setting lead to punishment in the same area left her in many awkward states with others.

She silently listened to her master, grumbling softly. She had half a mind to mention Irius the Cursed, who did everything right in the face of an undead, but was still conquered. However she did not, as the branches that the near trees sported suddenly looked quite intimidating. Her ears perked at his mention of her tossing the bones, and she looked at him with wide, golden eyes. "Sir, are you sure?" It wasn't that Amber wasn't confident in her ability as a Tamer, she was just nervous on the off-chance she did fail. Tashir wasn't one to overlook any mistakes, and one such as this could leave her standing at supper and sleeping on her stomach for quite a while.

[Strictdaddy1]

The powerfully-muscled man had to suppress a chuckle as he observed his student turning away, which he did perfectly from long practice; he knew all too well what sorts of thoughts ran through an Apprentice's head at these times . . . Since he had most certainly been one himself.

She doesn't know that her head tilts up slightly as well when she rolls her eyes, he thought. I didn't know that Aleshar knew my tells, until she chose the perfect time to teach me of my folly. Aspirants think they know better than Apprentices, Apprentices think they know better than Sojourners, Soujurners think they know better than Masters, and too many Masters think they know better than Grand Masters. Like Mistress Laurana.

When she turned back to him and asked her question, he had already made his face stoic; sometimes it was important to maintain appearances, and not just from those who were not initiated into the deeper mysteries.

"It is time you made the attempt, Amber of Dunshire," He clarified, "Unless you have been daydreaming when I've had you read the Book of Bones, you should be completely familiar with the process."

He shifted to the secret language of the Tamers, for use when amongst the uninitiated, when speaking wards and countercharms, when writing and reading the multitude of Books of the Good Gods' Power, and when making the various instruments -- like the wagon itself and many of it's contents -- which protected a Tamer; it was what made Tamers special amongst all other humans: it could not speak lies, it could not speak evil, and it could not harm the holy.

"Dleschar sang melschen virinas pradana elda miranthianas pradana, selda jaku virinas elda . . ." he began for her ("The true power of the bones to convey the truth to mortals does not lie between the Holy Writing and the bones it is written upon, but between the caster and . . ."), watching her body language, facial expressions, and any hesitation which would send her into the forest for a fine, flexible reminder for her lessons.

[Dungeon]

Amber swallowed nervously at the threat, closing her eyes and looking back at the many lessons she'd received on this before opening her mouth and finishing the hymn. "Ragnos eltrot shalhail estret yestrous dues sang." ("Their ability to expose that truth to any prepared to accept it.") She opened her eyes slowly, praying to every divine she could think of. "Was that passable?" Amber's hand slowly drifting to her rear instinctively. She was actually positive that she nailed it, but Tashir was unpredictable whenever they were on a mission.

[Strictdaddy1]

"Eya," ("Yes") he replied, nodding in approval that she was taking this seriously, and then continued the hymn from the book, "Elda dleschariski ragnosia estretina . . ." ("And that true power is exposed only when they . . .").

Many Tamers could not pass beyond Aspirant because of their inability to master the High Words; and some could not progress beyond any given level because they could not give up their baser, morally-dubious habits.

[Dungeon]

"Dila Tommie estrus ni toala gon shev leveck." ("embrace the enlightenment found in the uncovered, untilled, and unblemished ground.") Amber smiled at her master, impressed that she remembered the whole thing. A sudden crack of thunder shattered her composure, forcing a squeak from the usually tough lass. Embarrassed, Her cloak was pulled over her face as the wagon trudged along. "Master, how far are we from our destination now?"

[Strictdaddy1]

He spared her a smile back as he said, "Gesha mille," ("Good girl.") and noted internally that her pronunciation had improved significantly since had provided a paddle as incentive during their last vocabulary lesson.

"Hours, girl. Hours," he said as he clucked twice and sent the horses into a trot. As she squeaked, though, he said, "I know that demoness had a fondness for lightning; but you cannot let that effect you. Her forest is far to the east, and Grand Master Lolanka is researching her True Name for us." He let the plural linger for a moment before adding, "We must be prepared for rain, though; the horses might need another dose of Gelal ("protection from evil"). Get some from the box so that we may be ready to reapply at a moment's notice."

Inwardly, it galled the Tygeptian that his proposal to create ward covers for all Tamer wagon horses had been rejected at the last Conclave Annual; he had worked hard to train the beasts for the eon's-old wagon he drove, and the idea that the temporary measure (and costliness) of potions over a more permanent solution (though the cost in materials would have been a greater expense, initially) of ward covers was considered sufficient seemed a rife folly to the widely-traveled Tamer.

What if we run out of the damned potions? He thought. How am I supposed to brew in the field without a ready supply of obsidian to hand? We can only carry so much in these wagons, since we already have to carry enough to Tame any number and variety of Takers . . . And here I am, questioning the wisdom of the Grand Conclave like any other Master who knows better.

But I do know better, He cogitated as he drove and the thought immediately returned, In this, I do. Ferella's "Aspirants are too useful elsewhere" and Nachelle's "How many silvers do you actually think we have to hand" be damned by the Gods, in their Wisdom.

[Dungeon]

Amber nodded at her master, looking towards the box that rested between the two Tamers. Every time she glanced at it, she felt a surge of mixed emotions; bewilderment and caution, power and weakness, and dominance and submission chief of them all. She quickly reached her hand inside, retrieving three vials of the mud-like substance, and handing them to Tashir.

Her mind started to drift as they continued on their way, back to her home in Dunshire. She hadn't been back in so long. Were her brothers still wasting their time on that hunting dog? Was Eras still selling those pickles. Amber chuckled at the memory of her dare with her old friend: whoever ate the least peppered pickles in three minutes was subject to the Victor's whim. "You screamed like a Banshee back then. I wonder if you ever asked Helios to take you over his knee?" Amber mumbled, leaning back and relaxing.