I know, I know. It’s been a while since the last TETWOS. A hell of a lot more than two weeks, and a good sight longer than “or so”.
Anyway, I’ve been working on a revision of the Fell Sylvanus character class I created for Colin’s revised edition of Permafrost. Joe’s been kind enough to let me playtest it in his current D&D campaign, and we’ve come to conclusion that it’s a broken class, especially at high levels. So complete overhaul. But, it got me thinking about the other set pieces I wrote for Permafrost, so I thought I’d post another one.
The Longest Journey
S’Darta stared placidly as the guards disappeared into the mist. This far from Inferno Peak the ground was barely warm enough to avoid freezing in the daytime. By afternoon an inevitable ring of impenetrable fog usually ringed the lands controlled by the infernal Peakers. It was also beginning to snow — again, curse the world — and a flake drifted into his unblinking, slit-pupiled eye. A transparent membrane nictitated across, wiping away the flake, momentarily blurring his vision. The guards were too far to see it, but still they watched his fixed gaze warily over their shoulders. He waved insolently, grinning, though they couldn’t see his scarf-covered mouth.
The guards were a courtesy, an escort provided by the ruling council of the Peak, as much to ensure the safety of those leaving with S’Darta as to ensure he actually left. The last guard took a few backward steps, to better watch him, before melting from S’Darta’s sight. He sighed, sinking in on himself, compacting his body, and shivered. He was not used to this constant cold. He headed further out of the mist, following the trail of his new converts. It was an easy trail to follow, with last-night’s snow still fresh on the ground. Clumps of the heavy wet stuff kept falling from dead and dying trees into the trail, though, and he almost lost it once before seeing the tail end of the line of new darveshi it was his honor to escort into the Dark Halls.
He quickly caught up and patted the straggler — Venson he thought was the name — through his layers of fur and cloth. At least S’Darta thought Venson was a man. It was always difficult to tell, with only cold grey wrinkle-shrouded eyes to judge from. No matter. All were equal in the eyes of the great Naga, be they always merciful. And in S’Darta’s bed, truth be told. When the world was going into the shit-hole as fast as it seemed today, a man would be a fool not to take whatever companionship he could get.
He pulled down his scarf and grinned reassuringly at Venson, then sped up to overtake the middle of the line, stepping carefully to avoid cracking through the encrusted snowbanks. The hiking was getting tougher and many of these new converts hadn’t ventured out into the frozen wastes much. They were too inured to their hopeless struggle to wrest food from a circle of ground that shrank, however minutely, with each passing sunset. And S’Darta was glad of it, too, for his people needed whatever surplus the Peakers could spare to trade. Just as the Peakers needed whatever supplies his people could spare.
He drew even with the middle of the line, bunched here into uneven sets of three or four people, as they were approaching a cave entrance, a passageway to the Great Dark. They were flanked by two of his fellow rhebari, Hashook and Silanna. One of the darveshi stumbled, landing on her face in the snow, not moving. The rhebari dashed forward, but Hashook was nearest and reached her first. He rolled her over and began to check her for injuries, removing her face scarf to scrape away the snow. S’Darta scrabbled forward over the ice crusted snow, nearly tripping himself over what had until recently been the lower branches of an oak or maple. As he reached the new darvesh — a young man after all, judging from the pitch of his stifled screams — Silanna was already helping Hashook cut away the man’s boot from a sickeningly twisted leg. Apparently the fellow’s foot had punched through a pocket in the icy crust. S’Darta began to carefully circle the spot, directing the rest of the travelers away as well.
“Pass on into the caves,” he reassured them. “Our friend will certainly be alright. We will join you momentarily.”
He turned back to the fallen man, and knelt at his head. “Report, please, Hashook,” he said, leaning on the man’s torso to help still his thrashing.
“It is badly broken. Several places, I think, honored one. We must try to set it, and splint it, but…” Hashook was silenced as the man kicked his undamaged foot into Hashook’s face. He fell back, but Silanna managed to repinion the fellows legs. “…he is rather uncooperative,” Hashook concluded through the fistful of snow he was using to staunch his bloody nose.
S’Darta pulled down his own scarf, and took the man’s head in his hands, leaning over his face. “Easy young fellow,” he said soothingly. “We are trying to save your life. What is your name?”
The young man squirmed some more as though trying to pull away from S’Darta’s gaze, or perhaps just move off of a rock or stick, but he replied, “Randall.”
“Well, Randall, my friend. Know this,” S’Darta continued, leaning closer in. “I am cold and I am hungry, and the life of a fool who struggles against those who would aid him is worth very little this day. Think on this.”
A shadow fell across S’darta. “Anything I can do to help?” It was Venson.
“Ah, my friend.” S’darta smiled smoothly. “If you have an axe or sturdy knife about you, you might cut us two sticks for a splint,” he said, holding his hands apart to indicate length. “About two fingers thick should do. Thank you.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” replied Venson. “I’ll be right back.”
As Venson moved off, S’Darta returned his gaze to Silanna and Hashook, his smile sliding away. “Quickly, Hashook, you must dose his leg. But be careful. Only enough to make him forget the pain. He must be able to walk.”
Hashook leaned forward, placing Silanna’s body between him and Venson. He removed the thick glove from his left hand, exposing the scales that he and his fellow rhebari were so reluctant to show to outsiders. The slow change affected all Children of the Naga differently, some developing scales on the extremities, some on the torso; some sooner, others later. Regardless, it was a deeply personal, spiritual experience. Double-checking that he would not be seen, Hashook quickly slapped his open palm against the bare flesh of Randall’s broken leg. The young man spasmed, and moaned, but held himself admirably despite the flash of pain.
“Good,” sighed S’Darta catching Randall’s gaze once more. “You do have discipline, when you choose to use it. You may progress far after all.” As the young man began to relax with Hashook’s venom spreading up his leg, S’Darta raised his voice to check on Venson’s progress. “How are you doing there, Venson, my friend?”
Venson leaned out from behind a nearby tree. “Just getting the last stick now.” He disappeared again, and S’Darta spoke sharply to Hashook, “Again. Quickly. We can risk a second dose with this one.”
Again Hashook slapped the young man’s leg, but the resulting spasm was less, and no moan escaped Randall’s lips. S’Darta patted Randall’s head absentmindedly. “Ah, here comes our friend with your splints Randall. It would seem you will survive this day after all.”
They splinted Randall’s leg, not bothering to swaddle it as warmly as before. The cave entrance was only a few paces away and they would soon be much warmer. They lifted him up and supported him as he hopped — lightly, so as not to crash through the snow again — into the cave. Randall stumbled often, his balance and dexterity thrown off by Hashook’s venom, but they and the rest of the travelers passed deeper into the cave without incident. S’Darta had them all pause once, as the several passage bends stole away the light, to apply a salve to their eyes. Made from several mystical mineral powders, and the excrement of the sacred Naga masters, the unguent allowed them to see short distances in the darkened caves.
As they passed down into the Great Dark, the rhebari performed their sacred duties and began to instruct the darveshi in the ways of their new culture. They made excellent tour guides as well, explaining the meanings of frescoes carved into the living rock of the cavern walls. Carvings of the great Naga flanked passage entrances. Stone bridges snaked bare inches above glistening murals set in concave floors like frozen lakes. Reaching ever deeper into the earth, rooms were opened and shaped into scenes of breathtaking exotic beauty. And as they descended, the air warmed, and they were forced to slowly strip away their outer garments.
It was by no means sultry in the Great Dark, but the temperature was at least consistently well above freezing. As S’Darta watched Hashook and Silanna lead Randall off to the curates, he smiled. Everyone was now carrying a bundle of furs and cloth nearly as large as himself, but he could now tell men from women, young from old, attractive from repulsive. “Come my new friends,” he said, expansively, gesturing for them all to dump their extra clothing into a nearby bin. “I will show you such wonders as you have never dreamed of here in the laps of our great Naga masters, may they be ever merciful. But first, we must get you cleaned and properly attired.” And he turned and led them away into the dark, into their new home.
Originally published at Quentin Hudspeth's Journal. You can comment here or there.
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