"The Tale of Zyrimir d'Quethe II"
by Chartaine

(this is the second installment of an ongoing story)

Zyrimir awoke to a tingle in his arm. The lovely empath at the bedside sat with her eyes closed and hands touching his wounds. The young man watched awe-struck as the wounds began to close and eventually disappear. Thinking he was fully healed, he jumped from the bed and began to walk toward the door.

"Easy dere, friend," Chartaine said as he caught the warrior just outside the door. "You are nowhere near healed." The young human mage pointed at Zyrimir's arm where there was a steady flow of blood trickling out from under his shirt.

Zyrimir began to walk toward the bed, but suddenly and without warning, the young paladin fell to the floor, fainted.

"Why do I not have the pendant?"

"The young warrior had…had…help, sire?" stammered the trembling elf .

"I do not care! The five of you should have dispatched them both!"

"Sire, the second was a m-m-mage…" explained the still shaking elf.

"You are a mage, idiot!"

"But…" started the mage with his excuse before being cut off.

"No excuses! Find new help and get that pendant!"

"Talk, halfling!" Zyrimir griped as a gauntleted fist struck the halfling to the floor.

Scrambling to his feet, the halfling jumped the kick from Chartaine. Seeing his chance, the halfling grabbed a knife from his boot.

"Stay back! Juskler leave," threatened the halfling thief, waving the small blade menacingly. Chartaine made a move for his longsword, but the halfling’s eyes quickly fixed on him.

"No move, no. Juskler kill big one!" growled the dwarf of a man.

"Careful, thief. Donae say t’ings ye cannae back up," Chartaine said through a half-smile.

In a flash of movement, the empath, forgotten until now, raised her staff and struck hard on the halfling’s skull. Almost immediately after the blow, she fell to the floor with a small gash on her head.

"What happened to her?" Zyrimir cried, running to her side.

"Dat must be what dey means by empathetic shock," Chartaine explained as he stooped to pick up the small blade which had fallen from the thief's hand. "I'd heard 'bout it. Ne'er seen it b'fore. Tend 'er head, hopefully she will come through."

The bar was clouded with smoke and patrons. The smell of stale wine and tasteless ale drifted heavily on the air. The elf mage stood near the hearth warming himself by the fire.

"I swear that….he….makes…" he mumbled. One of the patrons, already well past the stage of drunkenness that would have a dwarf passed out on the floor, took offense to the mumbling and stood up, yelling.

"What in the name…of the Immortals…did you say about my mother!?" He raised a shaky hand to point at the elf.

"I did not say anything about your half-wit mother," insulted the elf, who had already been looking for the door. After his comment, he redoubled his efforts. The drunken man grabbed the nearest weapon, which in his case was a chair, and hoisted it at the elf. The elf, not being near as drunk as his opponent, dodged with ease. He then reached out and drew the warrior's own knife. Slipping in behind the man as he swung again with the chair, the elf stabbed hard just below the ribcage, causing the man to spasm and drop the chair. Coming back around to the front of the man, who was slipping to his knees, the mage said, "Give me one reason why I should not slit your throat."

The answer came from behind him, a solid thump to the back of his head.

"Juskler no know what the big ones want, I just get you come alleyway. Check the dead one, he have stuff a plenty," the halfling, now firmly tied to a chair, stuttered. On this cue, Chartaine turned to the dead body he had covered in the bed. Digging through pockets and pouches, he found nothing but a few gold coins. As he began to check the man’s boots, he noticed a glimmer of light reflected off a silver and gold entwined medallion the man was wearing. The mage took hold of the pendant, lifting it into the light.

"Well, well, whadda we ‘ave ‘ere?" he asked.

Curiosity piqued, Zyrimir walked across the room to join his friend. "That is mine. They must have taken it off me when I fell," the young paladin griped. "Those filthy swine, I ought to…"

"Easy friend, ya kill’d one, and I ‘ave a feelin’ dere be more where dat came from," Chartaine interrupted.

"But why would they want this, it has been in my family for ages?" Zyrimir asked.

"I cannae tell ya, but whate’er dey want it fer, dey want it bad," replied Chartaine. "Perhaps we should keep dat teef around. He would make good fodder if’n we get in a bind.

" The two friends begin a lengthy whispered conversation, forgetting the halfling, who had his eyes set on the small dagger which had fallen out of the dead ‘Tog’s boot.

The elven mage awoke upon a small cot in a barred cell. The smell of death hung heavy in the air as he struggled to upright himself. As he stared blankly at his cell, the young mage began to remember bits and pieces of now scattered memories. There had been the bar fight, then nothing. He fought to remember what had happened after the blow to his head that had left him unconscious for…how long had he been out? he wondered.

"You ‘wake now, me get bosses," came a gutteral voice that made even the evil mage shiver. He turned quickly to see the small beast scurry off down the corridor. He sat for a very long tense period until the dreaded encounter with the ‘bosses’ that seemed inevitable.

"Well, good to see we did not kill him," interrupted his thoughts. Having already been infuriated by the cell, the young mage jumped off the cot only to find too late that his ankles had been tied together. The mage fell hard on the stone floor.

"What do you want?" the mage moaned as he struggled to swing his bound legs around and sit on the cold stone.

"We want to know who you work for, for starters," answered a young human dressed in a dark chainmail armor and a long black cloak. The young mage noticed a cleverly hidden sword in his cloak.

"Who I work for is none of your concern. You should let me go, however…" started the mage in reply.

"Remember, Elf. You are the one that should do exactly what we say. You are the one behind bars," grumbled the human. "We could kill you just as easy as you can run that mouth of yours."

Realizing he was getting nowhere, the mage gazed intently at the human, waiting for the next word.

"Better. Now, who are you working for?" the human repeated. "I do not know. All I know is he wants something really bad, and I am supposed to get it from that stupid paladin and his friend," answered the mage.

"What paladin, and what does your boss want?" questioned the human.

"Zyrimir d’something. My boss wants some sort of magic pendant he wears. Not to mention that he wants that paladin dead," answered the mage

"Hmm…what does this pendant do?" continued the human.

"I do not know, all I know is what I have already told you," snapped the mage.

"Well, how does your boss expect one little mage to kill a paladin and whatever help he has?" came the next question.

"I had help. The paladin and that blasted mage killed all four of them," whimpered the mage, remembering the fight in the alleyway.

"Sounds like you are out of luck. I like hard luck cases. Summon the squad!" yelled the leader. Noticing the pain covering the elf’s face, he finished, "We got a pendant to get!"