[Story] [I.1.iii] Bazziox's Run-In with Riddles

[Aethera]

---

---

Bazziox had left the meeting with the Emperor with mixed emotions. Yes, he was leaving the city at long last, and the Priestess had a direction for him to go. That said, the city was the strongest place around when demons came calling. And all this of the possible end of an age? It was unlikely the Emperor had lied to them outright, but to stretch the truth in order to lean on them enough they would agree to this outlandish plan? Quite possible. Most of his travel-worthy belongings had been stashed away, replaced slowly with fine fabrics and showy attire suited for the Court. He would have to replace some, potentially, but he knew where to inquire for that. Especially with the rainbow black opal badge, the quartermasters for, say, the army would undoubtedly give him anything he wished.

There was enough he had to do to be ready to move to the heroes' guesthouse that night, it wasn't until he had changed into unassuming clothes and hefted both backpack and sack of armor that he could really let himself dwell in the thoughts the meeting with the Emperor had raised. For the random heroes of the day to be asked for this, there must be something more to them than they appeared, right? Even that foppish archer had survived three days of demons, so that had to indicate at least some level of competency. The one with the talking book he had immediately placed in the worthwhile category, for whomever could win the favor of an intelligent item like that must have redeeming qualities. That left the monk, and of course the princess herself.

The Memorial of the Blessed Emperor Courtyard was in one of the wings of the palace of Thronehold, an impressive edifice on any day, but far worse was the imposing silhouette at night when guards watched all comers and goers with keen eyes. He had to duck and weave like a thief to get past the first pair he'd seen, and only the pure chance of needing to shift how he was holding the sack of clank-able armor let him hide from the pair of guards he had not. But he successfully made it into the palace grounds, and around to the east wing. It was only when he entered a side door that he realized his memory of the directions was shoddy at best. He had to move quietly down lit and unlit hallways, trying to get to the right place without alerting anyone to his presence.

Of course that was when he turned the corner and nearly ran into an old man in a dirty orange robe heading in his direction. If not for the bare feet (in the palace, no less) and crazy hair, the look in his eye might have been knowledge of more than he seemed. As it was, all he achieved was to startle the dragonborn. "Easy, lad," the man said with a laugh, speaking quietly. "Don't want to bring anyone to investigate. You're late, you know. Time flies away on you." The staff in the man's hand came to rest on the floor without a sound, and he leaned against it. "You've either got brass ones making her wait on you, or the palace doesn't like you seeking her out. Took a wrong turn, didja?" Crooked smile or not, the look in this one's grey eyes had a bit too much of knowing.

GM Sorry about the lame joke, but the only one who would say it to a brass dragonborn's face would be this dude.

---

---

[Roekahs]

Bazziox skitters to a halt, taloned toes gripping for purchase and clattering objectionably against the polished floor. His thoughts had indeed been consuming him and the path to his destination less obvious than he remembered. Still, he had managed to avoid detection until this very moment. Perhaps that is the exact reason for a soft, but audible hiss that escapes the dragonborn’s lips.

Bazziox quickly assesses the man standing before him, his slitted yellow eyes darting across the orange robes and wild hair. "Whats-s-s it to you?" the dragonborn snarls quietly, his aggravation accentuating his more dragonic side. "You s-s-speak as if you know s-something that you s-should not." Bazziox feels the aggravation slowly diminishing as his eyes search the old man’s. "Tell me why I should not kill you where you stand?" There is little real threat in the last words, almost as if spoken out of some obligation. The dragonborn is distracted. There is something there. Something too familiar. Something Bazziox cannot quite place. The man’s joust about time also seems to stir a memory, but it dashes off into the dark corridor as fast as it appeared. "Have we met before?" The dragonborn’s tone shifts to one of curiosity, his previous threat all but forgotten.

[Aethera]

A smile appeared at the slight hiss made by the reptilian man, but he just shook his head. "Don't fret, your secrets are safe with me. I see much, but that is all I am permitted. My lady does not allow just anyone to meddle in her plots." For all his scattered and dirty appearance, the grey eyes that met Bazziox's gaze were level and intelligent. What's more, the dragonborn's lame threat only made him raise an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. "Save it for your enemies, lad. If nothing else, I can give you directions to the courtyard."

His eyes shifted slightly when Bazziox asked if they'd met, it seemed it was either not a question he had expected, or not one he had a ready answer for. Instead of a wise crack he answered calmly, though he seemed to be looking through Baz at something only he could see. "No, I don't believe we have, though my memory is not all it once was. You may have met others like myself... you seem to have something of them in you. If they meddled, it's no wonder She Who Writes chose to write them out and introduce me. Couldn't say for certain, of course." He returned his gaze to meet Bazziox's eyes and considered the dragonborn silently for a moment.

"You'd best keep an eye out for things the others might not notice, aye? As things stand, you may find that not everything adds up soon enough." His relaxed stance blocking the way forward seemed to frame him squarely in the hallway, like a picture just for Bazziox's merit. But if it were such, what underlying meaning was he supposed to take from it? Perhaps thinking along these lines himself, the man of unclear sanity shifted back to his less forthcoming side. "I would ask you a single question, dragonkin, and answer it truly. Do you know what is ahead of you?"

[Roekahs]

There is a long moment as the dragonborn's eyes try to pierce the veil hiding ... something from him. It still feels like they have met, but Bazziox cannot place it and the man says they have not. Despite setting that uncomfortable feeling aside, it still gnaws at him just a little. Half distracted, Bazziox says, "Courtyard? Directions?" then with a start as if returning from a waking dream he says, "The meeting! Yes, I am late. I suppose directions would be wonderful."

Thoughts are discombobulated. The princess. Their mission. This man. Bazziox's previous goal is - Wait! Shehoorites? He has heard that before! Excitement overtakes him and his voice comes out louder than intended, "Shehoorites! I have heard that before!" Quickly adjusting the volume and glancing around nervously, he continues, "Tell me what is shehoorites? What does that mean to you? What things that others might not notice?!" The dragonborn's voice has slowly grown in volume again and he has to snap his jaws shut.

Then things change drastically. The old man's question has an alarming effect on the dragonborn. In an instant, he goes from giddy young dragonling to stoic elder dragonkin, pulling himself up to his full height. "And why, sir, would you like to know what is ahead of me?" With an effortless, fluid motion, the dragonborn raises the mace that had been given to him and levels it directly at the old man's head. In a slow, rumbling voice that is dripping with menace, he states, "I do not know who you are, wizard, but you will not pry any more words from my lips you traitorous little snake." Despite his most desperate wishes to strike this man down where he stands, Bazziox cannot afford to alert the guards. If one deceitful, cunning old man knows a little too much, it is still better than most of the kingdom knowing anything. "You are playing a dangerous game old man, but I suspect neither of us can afford to alert the guards, so know this: I will not be so easily duped and you will not," the mace waggles in the old man's face, "get to her. I hereby swear it so!"

[Aethera]

The old man chuckled at Bazziox's reaction to his offer of directions, nodding agreement that getting to where he was going would be good. He didn't really get a chance to reply, though, because the dragonborn latched onto some of his other words. "Don't be a fool, councilor," he said with a disappointed look on his face. "My lady, she does write the tale of lives, that of the Empire, and yes, of deaths as well. I would pray for you, but she's already taken an interest; it's beyond me now." If he heard the question about Baz's perceptions, he chose to ignore it.

And then the dragonborn's mien changed drastically. The robed man reacted not a whit, or if anything, the look in his eyes grew bored and distant. He waited patiently for Bazziox to speak his piece and then started laughing. First it was just a dry chuckle, but the sound built and his expression grew merrier along with it. He laughed for a good twenty or thirty seconds, leaning more and more heavily on his staff, before even trying to speak. "Good! You'll need that fire, dragonkin." He straightened somewhat, doing his best to control the sound of his laughter but not the laughter reflected in his eyes. "Tis not I who needs to know what is ahead of you. I am not permitted to meddle, but some general advice may go a long way." His crook-toothed smile flashed again. "Tis up to you to heed it or not. Keep faith, son of clan Ziucnanaex." For such a name, his tongue did not stumble even once. "That is most important, I believe. But know that my lady, She Who Writes, has plans for you. This not so simple task is going to get more complicated as you go."

His gaze drifted off into the air beside Bazziox, once more seeing something in his mind's eye or memory that was not present. "She'll be tested, but the trial is part of being who she is, so council her in patience and strength. She will need you beside her if she is to succeed." The man's eyes returned to seek Bazziox's. "Which means you must likewise need both patience and strength. Find the solid qualities in your companions you can depend on, and make light of your differences of opinion. You'll need each and every one of them at some point along the way."

"I think I have said all I can, but if you have questions, ask them now before we both must be off." The old man's head moved as if to get a better viewpoint. "If that is all you wish of me, the courtyard is around the corner, your second right. Good luck." The last two words were perhaps the most emphatic of anything he had said yet, and there was real feeling behind the sentiment. For all his weird rambling, this ragged old man did wish Baz and by association, his companions to be, well.

[Roekahs]

Bazziox observes the man closely. The laughter is altogether unexpected and the dragonborn cocks his head slightly. But then it grows and Bazziox begins to feel a strong emotion welling inside him. Is it - could it really be? Sympathy? Or admiration?! This man hasn't a care in the world - and apparently nothing better to do than harass a dragonborn in the Emperor's palace. Despite the feeling, Bazziox does begin to find the laughter irritating. His teeth begin to grind, yet the mace does not waver. Bazziox watches incredulously as the old man leans on his staff, bringing his face even nearer the impressive looking weapon. Just one flick of the wrist and ... no, Bazziox's curiosity has been engaged at this point.

When the man finally regains control, Bazziox's head remains cocked as he speaks. When the man speaks his surname, however, Bazziox nearly drops the mace, regaining his grip only at the last moment and lowering his arm. The dragonborn stands stoically. The old man has finally crossed a line. Bazziox takes in the words, but he says nothing. The surprise encounter, the cryptic questions, the laughter - it had all taken the councilor by surprise. That surprise had been shattered at the mention of his clan. Every word that the old man speaks - and had spoken - takes on new meaning. "I think I care little to understand your intentions - I likely would only part with more riddles anyway. I would know more of Shehoorites, but it seems likely only to provide me with a headache." Bazziox pauses for a long moment, his eyes search the old man's. Finally, he says, "You tell your Lady that she can plan all she wishes with me, but this Empire - this Age - will persevere. I will persevere. I will get the Princess to Santa Cora or die trying and nothing your Lady plans will change that!" He says nothing of his companions - there is no evidence that this man knows who they are - nor of strength and patience. He had seen the Princess earlier and strength was likely not going to be the issue. Patience on the other hand ...

Bazziox takes in the man one last time, before setting off toward the courtyard, but after only a few paces, he turns and says, "And if we meet again, old man, we will discuss Shehoorites more, and I will get some answers even if I have to find and break your infuriating riddle-maker to do it!" With that, the dragonborn slinks off to the courtyard.

OOC Ugh. So much meta! I think everything works

[Aethera]

"What are riddles but words not yet understood?" quipped the strange not-quite holy man. "Whether you choose it or not, the story has begun. She has written it, and our meager lives can do little to change fate." He shakes his head at Bazziox's fervor, but he seems to think little of it. It certainly does nothing to change his expression or tone of voice. "You'd best learn to leave that title behind you, or her safety is in jeopardy. Come up with something else, or use her name, it's there for a reason." He chuckled lightly, not getting as far as the full resonant laughter of moments before.

The old man leaned on his staff, partly getting out of the dragonborn's way since he was getting to the part where he wanted to flee this conversation. "The less you know the better, in this case, but if She wills it, you will find out. You have no need of me for that. For all of us, however, pay attention when you sense something is not right. There are more things in the heavens and earth than even you could dream of. Guard your friends and your tongue and hope you don't come across any of the older things, for then you will really wish my lady had written something less cruel for your future." He let Bazziox go, though, the last words echoing down the hall as the dragonborn left.

[Roekahs]

Bazziox turns the corner toward the courtyard, but as soon as he is out of the old man's sight he leans heavily against the wall. The old man had caught the dragonborn in a vulnerable position. He had spouted nonsense, but then delved deep into clear thoughts and important concepts. Had he been half-mad or completely mad and the moments of clarity have only made it more difficult to distinguish? Or ... had he been completely sane? That thought sends a shiver down Bazziox's spine.

What are riddles but words not yet understood?

The words echo in the dragonborn's mind more than any other. The entire day has been a blur and, despite his normally carefree manner, it had gotten to Bazziox. A late night meeting with someone unfamiliar and by surprise had left the dragonborn on the defensive from the beginning. The old man had identified the problem too. Patience. Patience has never been one of Bazziox's common states of being and the surprise encounter had certainly exacerbated the problem. Of course, aiding others before his own wishes has also been lacking in the dragonborn's life. Now he is tasked with both. And the fate of the Age may very well hinge on his success. Superb ...

... or I will die trying.

Bazziox's own words suddenly thrust themselves into his mind. Really? Is he really ready to die for this task? The words had been spoken in the heat of confrontation, but that doesn't make them any less true. Yet, he had not considered the idea until that very moment. In fact, he had NOT intended to die on this trip at all. Bazziox shakes his head viciously. No need to consider that morbid path any longer. He does not intend to die nor be in a position where that is a possibility. How bad can it really be? Just escort the Prin- ... hmm, the old man had a point - Maelona across the demon-infested coast. Certainly their lives would not be in danger. Certainly.

Bazziox sighs heavily and pushes away from the wall. Everything had been so promising just a few hours before: a little trip with some heroes and a princess, a little freedom - finally!, and maybe some goodwill towards his unconditional release from service to The Priestess. The old man had shattered those illusions. Bazziox takes a deep breath. This night is not one of his favorites. He lets it out. The old man, on the other hand, is firmly in the position of least favorite. Bazziox hefts his belongings and strides toward the courtyard.