Chapter 51: You Cannot Buy a Name (Parakles)
The villa of House Porter is much as would be expected of a lording family of a mercantile city. Opulent and vast, with things placed and arrayed to offer large open spaces for people to roam about as though it were a proper Northern or Eastern castle. Yet it was not. The party, as they entered, had no idea where or how the lay would be arranged with the man left in charge of the city by the Bruin military under Seutonis, Melorian.
"Eyes up," Siphon called as he entered. Bors, with his heavy armor and large shield, took the lead, while Gage stood near Marcion with an arrow resting on his bow hand, ready to be snapped and loosed on a whim. All moved with caution; the conflicts that arose outside the villa proper were put behind the crew as they moved about the halls.
"It's quiet," Marcion mentions. He doesn't whisper, but his voice isn't a boom in volume, and yet it fills the rooms as if it were.
"I know. I can't seem to sense where the usurper of the House is hiding or has himself stashed away." Siphon scans about, looking for signs of disturbances, such as left-out glasses, knocked-over furniture, clothing—anything to show recent activity. His eyes are unable to catch anything.
"No. I mean, listen," Marcion replied to the thief. Djent puckered up as he noticed what the pugilist was referring to. "The fighting outside has stopped." Others took notice as they dropped their guard for the moment and took notice of the lack of scuffling that had filled the distance previously. It was not a booming noise from how far away they were from the fighting, but the small distanced clangs and bangs kept them to purpose and let them know that the men at the gate were occupied. Now that sound was gone.
"Did Anvil win?" Gina asks. No one has any way of knowing, and yet they wanted to believe their leader, their paladin, had what was needed to pull through in the conflict.
"FURRHHHH!" A fireball roars in with heat and malice and crashes hard into the side of Marcion, burning deep into his exposed upper left arm and knocking him back against a wall. The party is in a grand room, a room that perhaps would have been used by the Porters during large parties and feasts to house guests and hold dancing. Yet, it is dark, and none had caught the visual prior to it being released.
"I didn't know there would be fire mages here," Siphon says as Gina moves to check on Marcion. She pulls him steady from the wall while being careful to avoid touching his left side; the burns and swellings show the exposed skin and the future damage that will be left as a memory for the man upon his flesh. Gina flutters her hands about as he touches then releases, not sure what is to be done.
"Keep your head up," Marcion says with his eyes closed and his teeth gritted from the pain. He doesn't cry or wail or make a bunch of noise, doing his best to eat deep his pain and not be a distraction for the others, yet his diaphragm pulses hard as the body, on instinct, does all it can to distract from the burning sear that is his left arm. Laroux moves over to take stock of the injury, and while she knows that she can mend the pain, the wound will be too deep for her to fully heal on the spot. At least after her draining herself in the healing of Siphon. Such healing spells of true restoration are left unknown to many for more than just control of information, but also the sheer willpower and vigor and understanding of magic to use them, even sparingly without the caster binging themselves to death.
"FRRUUUUH!" Another fireball is entering the view, larger and with a slowing pace. All brace for whatever will come. Bors ducks hard behind his shield, hoping to absorb the blast. Laroux shakes fast toward the ball and lets the light of her mastery fill her eyes to a glow. She then wicks her hands forward, palm toward the incoming blast, and casts a quick shine blast which sends a bolt of light energy directly at the fireball. The blast spikes through and forces the fireball to explode at a safe distance from the party, not allowing opportunity for further injury.
Laroux does not cease action as she then casts a spell of illumination and sends a white ball with a high glow deep into the room to act as a de facto light source, as while the room was not dark to the point that nothing was seen, clearly something was hiding here that the party could not find. The ball radiates and uncovers much in the room, revealing a breach near the edge that leads to a narrow hall from where the fire charges had originated based on charring around the hall's opening. "There!" Siphon calls out.
The hallway was something that would be trouble to travel down, and the light sage would not have an unlimited supply of energy needed to counter all blasts coming in if these were efforts produced by multiple individuals adept in the arts displayed. Magic was something uncommon in the realm due to its required acumen in the areas of literacy and base knowledge, yet they knew this Melorian had amassed a solid deal of wealth and influence, and thus it could be possible for him to have a remaining guard strictly of magic users if he loosed his purse strings correctly.
Another blast came roaring down the hall toward the party. "DODGE!" Siphon screams as all break from view of the opening. The awareness of the hall did help with this one aspect of knowing where the blast would be aimed, as manipulation of trajectory would be most difficult for the kind of blast coming their way. The blast crashes along the back wall of the room and lands on a curtain, lighting the drapery on fire, and while it is not deep and large at the moment, the focus being on the hallway distracts the party from taking notice of the small flame along the cloth.
"Djent, Bors, can you two take the front with your shields and cover us down the hall?" Djent wouldn’t give a response as he smelled the heat and searing from the fire blasts. He, being blind, did not enjoy the idea of the whole party trusting his ability to protect them from firebolts being hurled at them down a narrow corridor. Yet this was the best option, and while others would not say what the blind knight was thinking, they also knew this was the best option to continue forward.
The two knights of heavy armor and large shields agreed and moved into position, Djent first, and then Bors came alongside to touch shields into place to provide the widest coverage. "As they enter the hall, stand at least 10 feet behind them to allow their shields to cover you completely from the blasts," Laroux said as her eyes still held the white of the light she had just channeled. Bors led the way with Djent matching his steps down the hall. As they marched, two more bolts hit the shields, but the men, with their large size and shields, blocked both well as they went further along. As they marched, Siphon could hear panicked steps inside, as if people were repositioning themselves about. He alerted the men and signaled all to get ready as they came to the mouth of the hall that opened into the room at the end.
Pattering steps were heard again as the two men crossed a threshold at the lead of the group. Djent snapped his head quickly as his ears perked up to a noticed noise. The knight broke rank and took two quick paces forward and slammed his lance true, skewering a man clean from the midsection. The man held a spell book, and while his hands showed that he was the one who had been casting the bolts, the toll on his body was evident from how he was unable to quickly avoid the thrust of Djent.
"YOU ANIMALS DARE INTERFERE WITH MY HOUSE!" A snarky and pompous voice called from clearly an elevated place in the room. The party took position, with Bors and Djent rotating their shields toward the location of the voice. Gage readied himself and shot an arrow in the direction of the voice without allowing further points of conversation. Laroux, Siphon, and Gina tucked around the corner of the hall exit to not give away too much of their body in exposure.
"Your house?" Laroux called back in confusion, her noble heritage for perhaps the first time among the party showing itself in the woman. "Do you have any children? Do you have any family at all? Was your father and his father men established and charged with the headship of an area or realm?" Her eyes brightened with more of the light being channeled as the pompous and unearned nature of the comments by the man Melorian, a lowly merchant who made his fortune and now sought to believe he alone was worthy, had enraged the sage.
"SILENCE! I WILL NOT HAVE MY FUTURE NAME SULLIED! LORD BRUIN HAS PROMISED THAT FOR MY AID IN QUELLING THE PORTERS, I WILL BE GIVEN A NAME AND THEN I SHALL TAKE A WIFE AND CREATE MY DYNASTY!" His voice still had that air of arrogance roaring from it. The party found their eyes adjusting to the dim lighting of their current room, revealing two men standing below, one with a large mace and another with a bastard sword ready to smash and crush any who stood ready to challenge the man. Above them, on a small slightly elevated platform in the room, stood a man in clothes, lacy and feathery, as if he was trying to use the trappings of opulent wealth to distract from his lack of earnest value in the society he sought to see himself among. The man was gaudy and brash in his appearance, wearing vast amounts of jewelry and having a rod in his hand with a purple jewel crested at the top.
Small amounts of smoke began to rise back in the other room as Marcion rested along the wall. He turned his head to notice the livening of the fires that were engulfing the tapestries and moving to other objects. His eyes widened at the emergency at hand. He pulled himself to his feet, careful not to alter or move his severely burned left arm. Pain of this nature is quick for a second, then fades and reemerges as the exposure and damage sets in over time. He knew he must alert the others, as he was aware that without adequate knowledge of the villa regarding the location of a stocked and deep well, the fire was too strong to be put out. He moved toward the hall where the main party was, hearing ahead the cries of the pretentious would-be lord, Melorian.
"HELLLP!" The voice is faint and weak, but it is a voice. Marcion pauses as he tries to ascertain the location of such noise. The call then comes again, but with a different voice, more feminine and slightly louder. Marcion is halted as he shifts about looking for the location of this noise. He wonders what this could be that he is hearing or if the pain from the burn has brought on a form of hallucinations as the body attempts to help the mind deal with the searing pain from the injury to his arm.
"HELLO!" He calls back loudly, with his left arm still dangling at his side.
"HELLLLLLLLPPPPP!" The voice screams louder. He locates quickly the origin as being off a different side hall and below ground, which would lead into a dry storage cellar, mostly for food, wine, or staff quarters. He finds the path and descends with his guard up as best it can be with the current injuries, even switching his stance to be that of a southpaw to protect his searing and bubbling skin.
Back in the room of contest, Bors finds himself challenged quickly by the man with the mace as the large man steps forward and slams his heavy mace directly into the blocking shield of the man in knight's heavy armor, smashing with such power that the collision is not stopped by the shield, and a crunching noise is heard as the arm holding the shield is broken into pieces along the main portion of the shield and even in the hand and wrist as well. "AHHHHHHHH!" Bors wails as his arm drops with the remnants of the bested shield to his side, unable to offer further defense.
Siphon and Gina are in the middle of tandem, wearing the large sword slinging man down, switching and using their speed and Gage's arrows to injure and diminish the man, allowing each new injury to hit and hurt further than the previous one has upon the man.
"FOOLISH ARCHER!" Melorian calls as he moves his rod to purpose.
"GAGE, DUCK!" Laroux calls out as a large fire ray shoots at the man. The archer moves out of the way, but his bowstring is singed, causing the line to snap as he, after recovery, attempts to draw another arrow. The snap pops the line, cutting the man on his face. He grips the site of the damage to him as he curses.
"I won't be much help going forward, guys; the line snapped on my bow." Djent makes a move and slams his spear into the back of the guard holding the large sword. The man belches out blood as the hands and arms that held the large sword fall to the side in the coming seconds. His story and contest extinguished for good.
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Laroux sends a strong light blast at the deluded man, knocking the rod from his hand. The rod falls forward, and as Melorian comes to see this revelation, he panics for the rod. "Oh, I see, that rod is an imbued spell; you actually don't have any understanding of magic and spells." Laroux smiles as she summons quickly, with a waft of her hands, another light ball that smashes and explodes into the rod, breaking and causing a secondary medium explosion in the room, knocking Bors and the mace wielder down, as well as Djent.
"AHHHHHHHH! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? YOU UPPITY BITCH! Do you think being of the Morningsong clan makes you better than others? And what of you, bastard?" The call of such a word rings out as the one the accusation is leveled against grits down at the comment. "YES, I KNOW WHO YOU ARE, BASTA…"
"SLLUNNK!" A knife collides into his throat. The man quickly then seeks to free the dagger from his neck, with terror on his face, and a new silence comes over as he is unable to give voice to any new words. Blood rolls down over the fanciful clothes and jewelry. Melorian is able to pull the knife from his throat, and with his large puffy laces on his arms, he is able to slow the bleeding and elongate himself, finding some kind of calm, even though pain is strong and breathing is heavy for the man.
The mace user arises and punches Gina low into the chest, sending her back into a bookshelf, slamming her into it with enough force to make several contents topple on top of her small frame. He then roars wildly as the man rallies what strength he has and snaps Bors' lance after a weak and failed thrust at his person. The man of the rebellion now stands defenseless, with his left arm broken and his right arm empty of a weapon. The mace wielder kicks Bors over onto his back as Djent taps around with his blunt lance side, trying to locate the remaining combatant. Though the mace user is quick and raises his large blunt object over his head, then with both hands, he grips down hard and clenches his teeth as though this blow was the only one that ever mattered in his miserable life. Laroux reaches out but is too worn from the quick barrage light strikes to offer a challenge. Siphon is moving to end Melorian and cannot pay any mind. Gage is useless and reduced to simply extend his hand and panic in view.
"BOOM!" The mace collides with the floor after driving through the lower chest of Bors, pushing into and then through the armor on his lower abdomen. Bors gasps and then convulses as he is unable to do anything other than beg in gulps for his lungs to function properly, though the diaphragm is shot up in the higher cavity of the body and cannot descend anymore. His eyes blur as he cannot make a true sound other than a wheeze. Gina regains herself and pushes off the shelf to gain extra speed as she then slams her sword deep into the mace fighter, forcing him forward and stepping onto Bors, whose body is now in shock and ending quickly. Djent, still tapping around, is angry as he feels unable to be of any hand in this issue. Gage then joins in with his bare hands and holds the mace wielder down as he calls to Gina to strike over and over, ensuring that the man is no more. Gina does this quickly.
As the slices and stabs ring out on the body of Melorian's final guard, Siphon walks up to the merchant who has fallen onto his back who is pushing with all his might into his neck, hoping to hold onto life. The thief retrieves the knife that he threw into the one now so in panic. "How dare you, bastard, I was gonna be… a grand house in the… annals of history."
"No.... what you did was something that cannot be. You cannot buy a name," he says as he kneels next to Melorian with pity and frustration to match, forcing him to simply stall and watch the man and perhaps engage further in this conversation. The man is adorned with all the wealth that many in the room, even those of noble heritage, had not seen so vapidly lain on a person.
"I know…. who you… are…. and at least…. I …. was someone," Melorian replies as the blood further surges and color fades from his face, even under the rouge and paint that coupled with his displays of opulence.
"You’re nothing. You must think that flashing all these jewels and sparkly things makes you something, but it really means you don't have that which you claim to be." The words are the last the man hears as he drifts into fate, never to return. So falls Melorian, the man who traded the world in pursuit of a name, when at the end he proved to be as he lived, worthless.
Bors has fallen, and the smoke now comes more into the room of the party, though the smoke stays at the top of the room, not making itself known to the group as they all, with their own troubles and injuries, seek to move the mace fighter from off their friend and comrade who has fallen. They all stand in silence as Gina, still weary from her own flight into a nearby wall, moves to close his eyes for good. She then stands to say a word or two but looks ahead to where Laroux stands in the room. "GUYS! FIRE!" Gina calls as she points ahead down the hall, seeing the smoke billowing in. The room currently occupied does not have any windows or exits and has only that one path back to the central gathering spot. They cannot confirm what is ahead, but they know that to stay idle will result in their demise.
"Stay close," Siphon calls to his friends; he moves his cloak over his mouth. "Stay as low as you can; we have to get out of here." He takes off down the hallway, frantic for safety, as he knows that the leader is dead. He pays no mind to the idea of the members of House Porter who perhaps are around or the wealth that could be taken from the body of the fallen fool. He seeks only to know that he will not die in a burning fire. The others move with equal passion, with Laroux grabbing Djent by the hand, causing both to blush as she takes the lead toward the exit, with the knight stashing his shield higher up his arm to allow him to walk with pace.
Below, in the lower level, Marcion has found the source of the cries: a cell with five people inside. "Please open this, get us out of here," called the older man inside. The people, while in rags and looking to have been inside the cell for a solid amount of time, with poor rations that had shriveled their forms, were clearly people who had been of solid resources and wealth prior to arriving in their current predicament. The pugilist nods and explains he will happily let them out as the existence of fire from the higher level becomes all the more apparent, with smoke coming to the lower level. "HURRY!" is called as Marcion looks about, as they are in a cage of sorts with a solid lock on the bars.
"DAMN! Is there a key around here?" he asks those stuck inside.
"No, Melorian, that cur would have it, probably on his belt," a woman holding a younger child spoke quickly. All can see instantly the futility of the search for a key. Marcion, in a hunt for an idea, calls for the people to stand back from the bars as he then kicks them over and over, much to the discomfort of his arm, as the shifting causes searing pain from the burns to traverse the nerves and run up his spine into his mind, forcing him to stall as the sensors of his mind demand a different tactic. But he cannot see one. Yet, he is forced to still stop as the effort is harming him further.
"DAMN! What can we do?" he asks with a touch of prayer in his voice. He does not wish to leave the people to their fate in the cells with the fire and the smoke coming down, but he knows even his window of safety is diminishing into nothing. He needs a solution, and quickly. He looks again at the cell; he sees the bars and the people who are thin from their time of poor diet, leaving them little more than skin and bones. He looks again at the bars. "GOT IT!"
The man takes his shirt off and throws it on the floor, turning away to allow the ladies inside not to see this next action. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? HELP US!"
"JUST A MINUTE!" he says as he opens his trousers, and a light stream begins to pelt the shirt. He is pushing with all his power to force the liquid out with pace to wet the shirt as best as he can for this next purpose. As he is finishing up, he looks around for anything made of wood in the room. He sees a chair in the corner with little wooden legs. "Perfect," he says while the people inside scream as the smoke clouds above them grow thicker, forcing them to lower down to avoid coughing. He puts away his business, then moves and kicks the chair hard, breaking a leg free from the rest, giving him a little wooden bar. He then grabs the damp shirt and wraps it around two of the iron poles in the cell, then he inserts the wooden rod between the two poles and ties the shirt wrapped around the poles to the rod.
"What the hell is this going to accomplish?" the old man calls as the panic grows larger. Marcion then knows that in order for this to work, he must further damage his arm, so he runs over and breaks loose another chair leg, which he then puts between his teeth as he gulps, knowing the pain he will suffer in the next series of moments.
Up above, the party has exited the villa and looks about the grounds, wondering where Marcion has gone, and is held back by the blind knight from any thought of going back inside to look. Meaning, in the fire, the prize fighter is squarely on his own to save himself and these people.
He moves his arm, which stings with pain as he grabs one side of the wooden rod while taking hold of the other end with his good arm. "AHHHHHHHHH!" he screams deep as he then rotates the sides of the rod like rolling a block or a gear on a mechanism. The force alone of moving his burnt arm tears into his mind with awful pain. Though this is the simple part, as he rotates until the shirt is good and tight around the bars. All inside the cell have some hope, though they do not understand or are busy screaming in the corner as they beg and wallow for freedom from this nightmare of choking to death only to then be burned afterward. Marcion is running out of time. He lets go and then paces quickly around the room, building up the courage and the mental wall he needs to power through the next part, praying his arm doesn't fail him. He looks over the left arm. The skin is falling off the meat, and what is there is exposed and charred dermis, which is oozing out fluids and exposing his body to the elements. The smoke is now lowering, and the heat from it irritates and burns him to even be in the room, but he sees the faces of the five in the cell, and he knows that he cannot give up. He regrips. He closes his eyes. The next moments slow down as the world around him becomes silent, as the mind has taken all blood and energy away from the ears and removed hearing from the man in an attempt to keep him awake through the pain that he brings over himself. As with the pressure of the twist, the bars do make a sound and then begin to bend under the strain of the wet shirt. Yet, his left arm, tensed and flexed for the effort, is bursting forth with further liquid and blood. The stress is immense, and Marcion blocks it out as tears stream down his face. As he groans and screams, the bars continue to twist more and more, creating larger spaces. It is the only hope for those inside. He lets out one more final scream after a series of panicked breaths. The squeaks of the bars, as they are pulled to the furthest the man will be able to render them for the people inside, is a welcomed sound as the five are in awe of the man's effort and even forget to cough for a moment as they recognize the heroism displayed in this moment, and by a stranger from a distant land, no less.
"There…." He leans into the bars as he lets go of the wood beam, and while his left arm is still pulsing in pain, the release is a grace that does not go unnoticed as Marcion reaches a lower state of consciousness. The wood rod in his teeth falls from his now drooping jaw as he is spent and barely on his feet. The family then finds the bars just pulled enough for all to squeeze through, even the old man. The five, which includes two young children, are free from the bars, but not from the fire above as they now see the raging sears at the top of the steps to the upper level. Marcion is spent, but the old man has an idea; he removes his robe entirely, stripping him down to his undergarment for his waist, revealing the famished state of the archaic one. Though he knows his purpose with this move, he then throws the robe over the steps to give a window for the cluster to pass over. He then grabs one of the women and runs up the steps as fast as people coughing and dying of starvation can before proceeding to keep low as the man who knows these halls well races toward the exit. However, in their joy, the five forget their savior. Marcion, worn down from the effort, with sweat pouring and running over his body, is jolted back to focus from the salt running over his destroyed left arm. He shakes his head and becomes aware that the family has fled. He does not have ill feelings in their haste to flee, as that was pure survival instinct, and for him in this moment, he is operating on the same level; emotions are not allowed now. He staggers to the stairs and tries to keep low, then uses his good arm to help balance himself as he climbs as fast as he is able.
"COUGH! COUGH! COUGH!" The smoke is filling him up, black and thick, enough to fill his nostrils with soot and dye his teeth with a chalky residue as the main floor, when he arrives, is consumed with only small areas clear of flame now.
"AHHHHH!" A man clad in the familiar gold of the Bruin, who had been elsewhere in the house, emerges and is running about with terror on his face and flame on his back. He trips and falls down into the lower cellar from where the pugilist had just emerged. Marcion pays the man no mind, however, as he staggers with heavy steps and closing vision back along the path that he knows will lead to salvation.
"COUUGHHHHH! COUUUGHHH!" His throat is on fire as he trips and lands on his face. The ground is cooler than the air and feels comfortable by comparison. His eyes begin to close. "NOOOOO!" He grits his teeth and forces a hand further ahead as, even though he is on the ground and feels the light shutting out, he must fight. He pushes hard and gets his feet under him. Pure adrenaline is all that he has now. He has one final push as the flames surround him and the wood above starts to buckle. The stone is set and unwilling to yield to the fire, but all the wood and the ceiling lose their strength around the man as he, with weak and wild steps of a man without true control of his body but with the sheer willpower to make it, bursts forth from the flaming villa to the outside.
"MARCION!" The call rings as his vision closes to the sight of Laroux and Gage running to the man, who, two steps after he left the engulfed home, fell onto the soft cool grass of the courtyard.
…….
"BUUUUUUUSMMMM!" The exploding sound of fire grabs the attention of the men standing point on the field in front of the city at the north side. All have remained passive in the brief window of calm brokered by Parakles between the parties. The paladin knight himself had been gulping water from his canteen during this reprieve and catching whatever air he could, as the fight with Lycon still had the man reeling even after an elixir from his squire. Although now, they have their focus turned to the smoke column in the sky that rises from the villa and the sounds of crashing fire inside.
"This is not good," Parakles says as he immediately corks the canteen and drops it. He then reaches at the ground for a lance of decent quality due to having not recovered his shield from the chaos of the battlefield. He then draws his sword and swaps it to his left hand while the spear is in his right. Some men move to the inside toward the villa, while others race at the men with the paladin. "MEN!" he calls loudly, "PREPARE TO DEFEND YOURSELVES!"
