Art by Clea Harris

Chapter 2

Introductions

Outside of Claranel Caves

West Æshorenth, Æshorenth, Vol’Tyr

The carriage rumbled down the path past the party of three, the driver off to drop their belongings at a tavern GGA members knew and frequented, and to ask for backup, while the rest walked to Akala’s camp. It was small, a collection of tents with a fire in the trees, and a Nojern woman stood to watch them approach.

Akala approached and put an arm around the other woman’s shoulder to introduce them, and Caliz noticed if not for their identical heights, they were near opposites of each other. Akala wore flowing robes, this woman wore a laced shirt and leather pants. Akala had face-paint, this woman was mere silhouette. Akala had a long dyed braid with black clasps, she had a ponytail. Akala wore black chains, she wore a bright silver pendant, which if Caliz wasn’t mistaken looked an awful lot like a moon-mark. She didn’t have horns, and Akala did, so…

“Glam, this is Mok Caliz Hats’ik and Osadoguhn Viaxy. They’re GGA journeymen here to help.”

“Gods watch you,” the other woman approached. “My name is Glamour Claranel, I’m Mead Master of Claranel Caves. I see you’ve met my sister.”

“Sister.” Caliz nodded. “A Watcher and a Moonfolk. Sisters.[1]”

“Never heard of adoption, have you?”

“Fair enough,” Caliz tightened his jaw. So much for good impressions. “What’s the situation, Miss Claranel?”

“Glam, please,” she smiled with her voice and walked them back into the camp, where there sat two other Nojern and a Havlin[2] man. They sat down on logs around the fire.

“So,” Glam began, “our situation is that our meadery has been taken over by bizarre creatures. None of us got a good look, but something surged in, started wrecking the place, killed a couple people, and forced us out. Any attempts at communication have been met with hostility or silence.”

“And what,” one of the other Nojern, Naevys, broke in, “you expect us to take the meadery back from these, what, mercenaries?”

“Ain’t mercenaries,” the Havlin in the back mumbled loudly.

“Grym, you’re…” Akala sighed. “Guys, this is Grymwold, he’s our enforcer, and our ambassador to the Farmer’s Guild. And Grym thinks he heard something—”

“I didn’t think, I heard. Three people. All said lizards.”

“Lizards?”

“Lizardfolk. People with scales and tails. Claws and teeth.”

“What, like a Ril? Like Osa?” Caliz motioned to the giant snake woman beside him.

“No. Not a snake person. Lizard person. Legs ‘n’ shit. Lizard faces.”

“There’s no such thing,” Akala sighed. “If lizard people existed, we would know. We live in a connected world, Grym.”

“I know what they said.”

“It must have been scalemail armor and some inventive helms,” one of the other Nojern suggested. “Maybe lizard cult folk.”

“You hire dumbasses?” Grym asked.

“Excuse me?” Akala balked.

“I said, did you hire dumbasses? Dumbasses can’t tell armor from skin? They got bite marks ain’t done by armor.”

“Look,” Caliz diffused, “why don’t I try talking to them, see where that gets us?”

“That hasn’t worked well in the past,” Glam suggested.

“Well, let’s try. Show me the way.”

Glam got up and led him and Osa through the trees.

“Nice operation you’ve got. I’ve had your meads way over in Antra.”

“Thank you, sir. I work hard to make my meads as great as possible. Akala does all the hard work, though.”

“A Watcher and a Moonfolk, sisters, running one of the most successful meaderies known. Story for the ages.”

“Racism doesn’t run through our veins, Mr. Hats’ik. It’s trained. It’s a choice.”

“Well obviously, but you get my— Oh shit.” Caliz peeked through the trees and his mouth hung open. A solid two hectometers[3] of open field sat between them and a massive cliff-face. Dug into the sheer rock were a series of openings, including a massive set of double-doors easily five meters high, two long windows flanking the massive doors above to either side allowing shooting space for archers, smaller double-doors a short distance to the left, and a pipe for run-off filtering down a ditch leading into the forest perpendicular to them.

“What?”

“It’s…” He gestured vaguely across the field. “Caves.”

“Claranel Caves.”

“It’s actually caves.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, it’s a name.”

“Named after caves.”

“But it’s actually caves!”

“Why would I call it Claranel Caves if it wasn’t caves?”

“Alliteration?”

“Why would I call it caves if it wasn’t caves?”

“I don’t know! I just… didn’t expect caves.”

“Well,” Glam stared at him.

“Alright.” He walked forward into the field, enjoying the clover around his feet and the crisp mountain air. He walked closer, reveling in the sight of the giant cliff-face until he was about a quarter of the way there, when a crossbow bolt stuck in the ground an arm’s reach away.

“Ah! Hello!” he waved up at the cliff face, not seeing anyone. “I’ve come to parlay!”

He heard a voice, but it sounded… wrong. Not like it was being shouted, but like someone was standing beside him pretending to shout. He was almost convinced, but it didn’t quite sound right.

The voice spoke a language he did not. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand! Do you speak Antrian?”

It responded, and he picked out a couple of words that sounded an awful lot like Kilio. But not quite.

“Look, I don’t speak Kilio. But… Um.” He pondered. “Do you speak Algeshi?” he tried in Agleshi[4].

Repsonse in the same strange Kilio.

“What about Ierish[5]?” He tried in Ierish.

Another arrow flew at him without response, this one landing right beside him.

“Is that a yes?” he continued.

Another arrow found purchase in his shoulder.

He turned and fled.

[1] Nojern come in two races, Watchers and Moonfolk. Watchers are ancestrally from the ground floor of Vol’Tyr, and grow large horns from their foreheads upwards, as well as claws and fangs. Moonfolk, ancestrally from the Sky Cities, are marked by their noticeable lack of horns, and strange silver marks that appear when they exert themselves. Silver runework glows across their bodies, called moon-tracks, and a silver symbol glows floating in front of their forehead, called a moon-mark, which are unique (to a point, like fingerprints).

[2] Havlin are found everywhere, but predominantly the other three continents. They are, however, a native species of Vol’Tyr. For your sake, reader, think of them like Humans, but smaller and with pointed ears. 11-14 dm tall on average.

[3] 1 hectometer = 100 meters.

[4] Agleshi is the language of the Ironborn Milarics, in and around the Sky-City of Aglesh. It is his native language.

[5] Ierish is the native language of the Sky-Cities, bizarrely shared between all of them for known history, save for Fallcourt, but that’s quite another matter. Pronounced EE-rish.