The gates of Marsember were nothing special to Seyashen, who had seen structures built with bones and accessorized with sunbleached skulls. The guards were likewise underwhelming for him. Clad in his dark robes- his lighter ones wanted washing, and couldn't be worn that morning- the hornless Tiefling stepped off the cart and looked at the single-file line to be met by one of five guards as he began digging his fingers into his coin purse.
The driver didn't breathe a word about payment. As soon as Seyashen had descended from the cart, he slapped the backs of the horses with an iron will, and the horses, shocked, took off as though there had been wolves behind them.
"Saves you the twenty gold," Iaden scoffed as he manifested on Seyashen's left side.
You didn't spook that poor man, did you? Seyashen thought, forcing himself not to look at the spectral form of his cousin.
"I didn't, no, but some little girl about nipped the flesh off the man's wrists and ankles all the way out of Urmlaspyr," Iaden replied. "Didn't catch her name."
Seyashen didn't bother to tell him. The line inched forward with all the will of a dying worm.
"I don't think Isha's here," Iaden noted after a few quiet minutes. "I don't feel her here."
Your sister and her partner follow that two toned Dragonborn like plague after rats, and this is where the High Captain said the big fellow and his captors were headed, Seyashen thought. This might not be where they are now, but it's where we have to start.
Iaden scoffed. "That rodent of a Human knew more than he told. He's the sort that always knows more than he tells."
He wouldn't keep his job a day otherwise, Seyashen noted. Some people have to be... mindful, let's say... of what they tell others. Imagine if I noised it about that I communicated with the dead as easily as one could with their next door neighbor. They'd have me bound, beaten, and burned in an hour.
The death knight decided not to argue with the bone rattler. After another agonizing few minutes, the line struggled forward again.
"I don't like how they're questioning every person," Iaden grumbled. "This is the custom of a settlement that's either recently had trouble, or is currently expecting it."
I've never been to Cormyr before, Seyashen thought, consciously keeping himself from physically shrugging. This could be their standard procedure.
"No one's standard procedure is questioning every single visitor," Iaden shot back. Despite the bite of the comment, Seyashen noted that there was no bitterness or annoyance in the warrior's tone. "Not for no reason. Even the lords of the Hells let spirits come and go as they please, until someone gets suspicious that one demon is using those spirits to try to overthrow another."
Seyashen sighed wearily, and the woman in front of him in line turned to nod in agreement.
"It's ridiculous, isn't it?" she complained crisply, her lovely blue eyes aglow with the kind of annoyance that only the privileged could sustain. "It's pageantry, is what it is; they're pretending to keep us safe from raiders and slavers, but are the thefts and people snatching attempts really being curbed? No, of course not. Pageantry; mere pageantry."
Seyashen, at a loss for the correct thing to say, made what he believed was a sufficiently dissatisfied huff, and nodded at the woman. She, for her part, took his relative silence as an opportunity to continue airing her sentiments.
"At the very least, there should be a separate line for those of us who are Cormyrean by blood, whose families have held land for generations, whose hard-earned coin now funds this type of nonsense. For example, the taxes on my land- my husband's land, according to the collectors, but it's only his because he married me- the taxes have gone up twice this year. Twice! Where the lions go is beyond me. Are there more guards? New suits of armor or improved weapons? Better walls, more trained fighting dogs, more calvalry- any of that? Hah!"
"Put it up, lady," a man behind Seyashen finally piped up. "No one cares how sore you are over the taxes on your daddy's land."
"Yeah, leave the preaching to priests what're trained to do it, will ya?" called another voice from farther back in line.
Seyashen, too focused on keeping his temper even, hadn't even realized that the woman had gotten loud enough to be heard at such a distance. He realized that despite the color of his skin and eyes, he looked Human enough to complain to because his thick, dark hair had grown long enough to cover the severed stumps of what once were straight spike horns. He rubbed the back of one of those stumps and cleared his throat.
"So I ask you," the woman continued even more loudly, "where is Foril putting our coin? Who's getting paid, and for what? His father, gods keep him in peace and rest, never raised our taxes once, but he took the fight to the Semmites and the Shade witches, he did. Rode out to fight them himself, until he was too old and sorely wounded. Ruled with wisdom- knew how to get the lords to manage the poor rabble on their lands. Foril? Doesn't have a spark of his smarts. Marries foreign, brings foreigners in here from everywhere, allows all kinds of imports that harm the native craft guilds, and then raises our taxes because somehow, foreigners are stealing people from the streets and marketing all sorts of wicked potions and poisons. He can't imagine how it's happening, people say. Doesn't understand what's the matter- hah! Raises the taxes to give us nonsense checkpoints like this, but doesn't keep the actual problems out."
"Hey, Her Majesty Rhindaun is straight descended from Queen Monarch Zaranda," complained the first man who had spoken up before. "If your man Foril had any smarts, he'd stand back and let her rule the place."
"The nerve!" the woman cried furiously. "You see what dangerous conspirators Foril allows? If King Azoun were alive, such nefarious elements would never even see these gates!"
"Oh, nice," the man chortled. He turned his bristly, muscular form around to a smaller, shorter compatriot some ways farther back in line. "Hey! Hey, Karl! Karl! I'm a Tethyrian conspirator now, eh? A nefarious element. Mind ya'self."
Karl, who was the person who'd made the weak joke before, laughed just as heartily at the so-called conspirator's jest as he had at his own.
Just behind Seyashen, Iaden gave a righteous snort.
"I... am foreign," Seyashen at last managed awkwardly, feeling as though the words were made of bitter lead. "I'm Turathi. My family was... migrant, but... Turathi, all the same."
"Ooohhh my," the woman cooed, her tone becoming light and distant, as though Seyashen had just admitted to eating mud pies. "The Tiefling empire, yes; I've heard of that, of course, yes. Such a shame how it... was destroyed- fourty years ago? Fourty five? Such a shame. But the gods have their ways, and I'm sure your family survived for a reason. What a blessing that you survived."
"Now that's pageantry," Iaden scoffed. "Now that you've gone from Cormyrean Human to Turathi Tiefling, she'd just as soon see your blood run in the street; you can smell it off her."
Seyashen, who had been fighting the urge to make the woman see her death, swell up with boils, or choke on her own vomit, pressed his lips very firmly together, determined not to allow himself to get out of hand.
"Being born to a family without a home- it must be painful to live with," the woman continued. "The future will offer you brighter opportunities, if you work hard and cleave to the gods who have spared you. This city, Marsember, has many beneficial temples that can point you in the right directions, in your time of need."
"I do not find myself in need, m'lady," Seyashen managed with a tight smile. Just a little ways away, one of the check-in guards had called the person ahead of the woman. "I have been made a citizen of Urmlaspyr, and I am in the service of Afflux. We at the Bone College are not given to proselytizing, but if there's anything that I, as an acolyte of the Unsatisfied Questioner, am happy to entertain, it's inquiry."
One of the two men, either Karl or his unnamed Tethyrian compatriot, gave a quiet "ooh," as though an unusually dangerous parlour trick had just been played.
The woman's already pale face drained of what little color it had, and her blue eyes grew brighter with a sudden fear that Seyashen could tell had been planted in the tenderness of her youth. His grim, hellfire smile widened until it had fully claimed his face.
"Madam? Over here, please," a guard called, waving a hand to the woman. Seyashen barely shifted his head in the direction of the terse invitation before the woman turned and scurried toward the one who had rendered it. Both Karl and his nameless companion clapped appreciatively as she hustled away.
For his part, Iaden laughed.
"Well played, cousin," he breathed when he could. "Grinning like that, like you were about to eat her alive? She just about shat her knickers."
The Bone College has a reputation, Seyashen thought. She very well may have thought that I might eat her alive.
"Useless little soap bubble," Iaden replied. "If we were that kind of Human before, I'm glad we were cured of it. Otherwise, the first of Arkhosia's skirmishes would've razed us to the ground."
That kind of shortsighted, self-centered Human would struggle to lead a village, nevermind an empire, Seyashen thought. And then he considered what he meant by what he'd said. My father believed that our leaders were too far sighted; paid too high a price to ensure that the empire stood for generations longer than it should have. Humans like that woman... they wouldn't have made such drastic decisions as our ancestors did- and as our leaders continued to do, right up to the day the empire finally did fall. I wonder... were the Humans who did not make pacts with the Hells made... weaker? Did the demons rob this continent's Humans of their mettle to give it to us, marking us with horns, hooves, and tails to make of us a monument to their sin?
"Had other gods answered the petitions of our ancestors and leaders, things would have been different," Iaden commented. "But they didn't, and choices had to be made while homes were burning and people were dying. I suppose your father forgot that Arkhosian Dragonborn had been forcibly colonizing our land since the War of Teeth. It's not like they were just up there in the sky, peacefully playing five finger catch, and we decided to try steel with them for no reason."
You, who can't read, know about the War of Teeth? Seyashen asked, caught entirely off guard. As I understand it, Turathi people were violating the treaty that ended the War of Wings- and all that was thousands of years ago.
"All of us knew about the previous wars," Iaden frowned, looking at Seyashen as though he'd just eaten a shoe. "All the soldiers, I mean. Down to the little kids. The commanders made sure of that. Any soldier who walks into a fight ignorant can only fight for themselves. A soldier who walks into a fight wise fights for every body that fell dead before they joined the field."
Seyashen frowned and gave a slight nod in appreciation for Iaden's point, entirely forgetting not to physically respond to his spectral cousin.
"Ser?" asked one of the guards, who had by this time tried to capture the hornless Tiefling's attention twice.
Seyashen snapped to himself without a hint of embarrassment. "Ah, yes."
Iaden allowed himself to lose the focus necessary to remain in an identifiable spectral form, but remained nearby to keep an eye on his mortal cousin.
The guard- a young man from the sound of his voice- cleared his throat uncomfortably as Seyashen stepped away from the line to confront him. "Right; great. Now then, what is your business in Cormyr?"
"I intend to spend some time with a relative of mine, in celebration of Greengrass," Seyashen replied brightly, surprising even himself with the levity of his tone.
"You do know Greengrass is nearly two weeks past, right?" the guardsman asked. "Anyway, what's the relative's name?"
"Mi'ishaen Lucien-Azaroth," Seyashen answered, assuming that the question had come because there was some sort of record of who had entered the country. "She traveled here with two or three companions."
The guard stiffened at the hearing of Mi'ishaen's name, and didn't recover. "And your name?" he asked thickly.
"Seyashen," the hornless Tiefling replied, suspecting what the next problem would be.
"Your entire name," the guard clarified. "I have to-"
"Seyashen is my entire name," Seyashen said smoothly.
"Look, I can very well put you on the next cart back where you come from," the guard shot back, soaring from discomfort to annoyance like a kicked stone.
Seyashen raised an eyebrow, feeling as though he were dealing with a petulant child. "The name I gave you is my entire name, by virtue of my being a bastard of a bastard. You couldn't so much as ask that first bastard what he suspects our family name might have been, because he is, fortunately for many of us, very dead."
"Right; that's enough out of you," the guard huffed. "Lionar Danrick!"
The junior soldier didn't have to call more than once. A strapping Human man who had been monitoring his charges' progress with one hand on the hilt of his dragon-branded sword and the other gripping a beat up steel flagon comfortably strode the few feet that separated him from the scene.
"What have we here?" he asked in a warm, mead-and-ale comforted way.
"This one claims to be visiting for Greengrasstide," the guard reported sharply. "Going to see the Miss Lucien-Azaroth for a holiday near on two weeks past, and won't give his family name."
"If I had one, I'd give it to you, but I don't," Seyashen insisted. "I could lie and make one up, but I imagine you wouldn't prefer that I did."
"A jester-y sort," Danrick smiled. "Good that you have your humour about you- where did you come from?"
"Urmlaspyr," Seyashen answered calmly. "I'm a made resident there. If I were to cause trouble here, it'd only take six or seven days for any bad report to get back; it's not worth the risk."
"Oh no, it doesn't take us so long to get word back and forth as it takes your friendly cart driver to get you here; no, we'd tell- what's his name? Sarkuda?"
"The High Captain Pohatkon Sakoda, may his gods guide and spare him," Seyashen said, knowing that he was passing a weak sort of check with his answer.
"Ah yes, that's it- Pohatkon Sakoda," Danrick nodded. "Good man, that. Strong man; very strict, as I hear it. We'd have him in the know in two, maybe three days? Five at absolute worst- I'm taking storms, slavers- got to be downright awful stuff, but five days would be the maximum time you'd have to disappear after doing us wrong here. A made resident, you say?"
"Yes, and recently, too. Originally from the Turathi empire," Seyashen supplied easily. "No fixed address there."
"Well, you wouldn't have, would you? Without a family," the Human reasoned as he swirled the remains of the sweet and hoppy substance in his flagon. The assertion wasn't entirely correct, but Seyashen didn't see fit to correct it. "Anyway, what brings you to the land of the Purple Dragon?"
"My cousin, Mi'ishaen," Seyashen smiled. "I'd thought to pay her a visit in celebration of Greengrass- which I do know is past. Personal matters, cart availability, and surprisingly poor roadways all delayed my coming."
Suddenly, the lionar looked up from the flagon, his face iced over with a seriousness that struck Seyashen. "Are you now, or have you been, a party to slavers, ser?"
"No; never," Seyashen replied firmly, burying his surprise deeply enough to prevent any flash of it to show up in his face. "Why do you ask?"
"Any dealings with one Bahlzair Xuntrin?" Danrick continued as though he hadn't heard Seyashen's question.
"Why do you ask?" the hornless Tiefling repeated, putting just a touch of irritation in his tone.
"I understand that all this questioning must be wearing your patience thin," Danrick said, handing off his flagon to his junior without looking at either it or him. The younger guard took the flagon and stood back, allowing his superior to face Seyashen straight on. "As you can see, everyone's being questioned; it's not just you. I have no problem with Tieflings; never have. This isn't about your race. It's about the safety of my people."
"I am a dedicant of the Bone College, an acolyte of the Tireless Inquisitor and Bloodfather," Seyashen said calmly and quietly, "and you may ask whatsoever you will to whatever end, be it good or evil. I protest not the trading of both answers and questions, but instead what seems to be the unfair portioning of those currencies between us. Now, an answer from you will buy another from me."
Iaden refocused and manifested just behind Seyashen's right shoulder. Seyashen found himself relishing the threatening chill of the grave that naturally emanated from the death knight.
"Shall I prepare to put him on a cart back to Urmlaspyr, sir?" the guard behind Danrick asked with poorly disguised concern. Beneath his armor, despite the cloth and leather between the metal and his skin, gooseflesh had cropped up.
Danrick ignored both the inferior officer and the noticeable drop in temperature, but took Seyashen's words seriously. "Ser... ah, Seyashen, that's right; no family name- Ser Seyashen, we've had some... incidents, let's say... involving Miss Lucien-Azaroth."
"Of course you have; everyone does," Seyashen shrugged simply, allowing the tense nature that he'd adopted to fall right away. "If not given anything wholesome to do with her energy and intelligence, she gets into every type of mischief. Has ever since she was a child."
"No lie there," Iaden commented offhandedly. "I turn my back and she's off, climbing out of the window in the middle of lessons, cutting purses, stealing sweets, punching kids three times her size-"
"Might I ask what 'incidents' she's gotten herself into?" Seyashen continued, taking advantage of Danrick's thoughtful silence. "I am one of her few remaining family members; when I speak with her, my reproaches might have greater efficacy than those of others."
The lionar looked searchingly at Seyashen for a few moments, and after either finding whatever trustworthiness he was looking for or at least not seeing any apparent danger, he decided to bless the question with as honest of an answer as he felt he could give. "Property damage, some petty theft- got involved in some kind of scheme with the aforementioned Bahlzair Xuntrin, although it sounded to me as though she got the worse end of whatever had them lumped together."
"That's not unusual," Seyashen sighed wearily. "Bad company can easily bend her in or warp her out as they see fit. I'm not familiar with Xuntrin, but I've certainly heard enough about him. I'd like to know what his end goal is with her. The inquisition I make into that matter will end in blood being shed, and I expect it to be his. Are they still in this city?"
Danrick allowed a careful concern to cross his face. "No; Miss Lucien-Azaroth and her companions went to Suzail- and promptly got into some trouble there. She escaped the lockup, but recanted and went to the Pillars- that's a part of the Royal Court where judges hear cases and decide upon them. There was some aggression on Ser Xuntrin's part, and the judges realized that he was trying to kill her for turning herself in, so they judged her only for the property damage that seemed to be unrelated to any of his charges, then released her to one Ser Iordyn Raibeart of Arabel. He's a dedicant to Lathander, and might be the good company that could help to fix whatever harm Ser Xuntrin has done. A righteous man- so much so that he's called 'the virtuous'."
"That's quite an epithet," Seyashen agreed, forcing himself not to gag.
"Indeed, and well earned, I assure you. He's the sort that'll try to coax even the worst of sinners to a life of righteousness," Danrick said confidently. "You might leave the... inquisition... of Ser Xuntrin to us."
"I might," Seyashen relented. "But I will not trust any answers that come without proof of death."
Danrick gave a very short, quiet puff that wasn't quite a chuckle. "I appreciate your candor, but I'll say again that I believe Ser Raibeart will do your cousin good, and that you have no need to pursue Ser Xuntrin now. I've not received any documentation of Ser Raibeart or Miss Lucien-Azaroth either entering these city borders or leaving the country, so I have to assume that the pair of them are either still in Suzail or gone some other where in Cormyr."
Seyashen wrinked his nose. "While I'm glad of the gentleman's apparently positive influence, I doubt Mi'ishaen would keep to him for very long. When she's not after some mischief, she tends to prefer more delicate company."
Danrick gave a slow, half-hearted laugh, then said, "Yes, I definitely remember that part of the report- that she's sweet on women instead of men. I can imagine why you'd be so careful of saying it, in a place like Urmlaspyr, but don't worry about that here. Now, as to why she's entrusted to Ser Raibeart- while your cousin remains in Cormyr, that gentleman guarantees her good behaviour to us. If she breaks the law anywhere in this country, he'd get a very hefty fine, and she'd go to the lockup. When she leaves the country, she can't come back without either him, or a signed letter from him passing custodianship to another law-abiding native Cormyrean."
"Does she have to serve him, or whatever other person he chooses?" Seyashen asked, concerned about the terms of this strange punishment.
"No; she can do what she likes, as long as whatever it is is legal," Danrick replied. "Think of Ser Raibeart as a nanny, not a master, and you'll be nearer to understanding the arrangement."
Iaden scoffed. "I pity Ser Raibert. The woman that Isha's become is even less given to being minded than the girl that she was."
"Well, if she is in Suzail, then that's my heading," Seyashen said firmly. "How much coin will a cart driver cheat me of to get me there?"
"Unless my eyes are worse now than they were at my last physical testing, the driver you came with was cheated himself," Danrick noted, raising an eyebrow. Seyashen nodded a silent admission, and Danrick continued. "Have you Cormyrean coin or Semmite coin?"
"Semmite, and since you've asked me that, I assume I have to find a translator," Seyashen replied. "Is there one within the walls, or shall I have to walk closer to the center of town?"
"You're prepared to be dealt with as harshly as possible, I sense," Danrick said, a genuine smile at last returning to his face. "Not so very unlike that cousin of yours at all. Well, I'll see what I can do to be good company to you, ser; perhaps prepare you to be treated more gently than you've made yourself used to." Danrick turned his wide back to Seyashen momentarily, took a few steps toward the gate, and gently dipped a ring on his first finger into the ink sponge that sat in a small jar on a stool just behind the junior. Much to the young guard's visible displeasure, Danrick pressed the inked ring onto the record that he was holding, then reclaimed the flagon from him.
"You're listed only as 'Seyashen' here, but let's bless you with a family name to help others in this land to treat you more respectfully," Danrick grunted, turning his head over his shoulder. "I'll make a note of it, and my reasoning for it, in my reports."
"Pedras-Azaroth is the family name that my mother and Mi'ishaen's mother shared," Seyashen explained. "My father had no name to give my mother, and no father demon to whom he could confess its lack; I'll call us... VaHara'ath. Yes, VaHara'ath-Azaroth, and may his spirit forgives me."
Behind him, Iaden let out one sharp laugh. Seyashen assumed that his deceased cousin knew exactly what had been abbreviated to form the impromptu latter half of the name.
Danrick turned an incredulous face toward Seyashen. "How am I spelling that?"
Seyashen smiled genuinely, and picked up his hand to scribe something in the air in front of himself with his first finger. In seconds, 'Seyashen VaHara'ath-Azaroth' appeared in block letters in the guardsman's pad, just as bold and black as if it had been written with fresh natural ink.
"Prestidigitation is a marvelous spell," Seyashen admitted when he saw the curious look on Danrick's face. "I and a few of my sisters actually manifested it before my mother had time to teach it to us- there's a 'correct' way to cast it, but... well. I suppose no one anywhere near the Azaroth name does overmuch in the way of rule abiding. Just write over that, and it will disappear when I end the spell."
With a nod, Danrick turned back to the pad to do just that. "Speaking of spellwork, what kind of caster are you, Ser VaHara'ath-Azaroth?"
Seyashen huffed at the way the blended name fell heavily out of the Human's mouth. "A conjurer," he answered, deciding to keep the scarier part of himself to himself. "I hear there's a custom to trace each practitioner back to a hall of magic-"
"The Bone College; you mentioned it," Danrick finished smoothly. "And now it's on record. Come, ser, I'll take you to a translator I trust, and when we've traded out that steelpence for good Cormyrean coin, we'll get you on a boat to Suzail, with my blessing- are you an ale sort? Suzail makes the best."
"I'm a ginger wine sort," Seyashen replied, "but I haven't seen that in years, so I keep to spiced teas and wassail."
Danrick took a swig from his flagon and shivered, pretending to be more disgusted with the thought of ginger wine than he was. "Well, wassail I can help you find. Carry on, Jesse."
Seyashen moved behind Danrick, noting on the way that Jesse- the young guard- was making some comments under his breath.
I would make him vomit, but he'd be proud of it, he thought grimly. 'Such a pure Human that being near the likes of that one made me sick,' or some such stupidity.
"I'll think of something," Iaden huffed. "Guards like that make their country seal look bad."
The proud land of Cormyr felt it necessary to execute and exile hundreds of innocent survivors, Abethann and Te'valshath being just two of them, based solely on suspicion and fear, Seyashen thought. I'm not fooled by Danrick's merit-making; Jesse and that noblewoman are par for the course in this place.
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