Rumors of Maggot-Man

Svarshan makes his way out of the Herbal Shop. No, wait. He pauses at the door. A whisper emerges, its words half-garbled in lisp. He pauses again, and steps out onto the street. If conflicted had an image, it would be the warrior. His shoulders are straight and tense. Though, they twitch as though they'd turn on their own, and drive him back inside. His feet are no better. He picks one up, puts it down again as though it itches.

Deep breath, and step out onto the road.

Down the road wonders a shadow elf. Someone familiar to some, not familiar to others, and to many downright unwelcome. He is here none the less and Lorik is here to stay, not one to let a little bit of hate run him off.

As he rounds the corner of Wilderness Point's road, here on some errand or other for the Guild, there is a large figure that he spies hovering.

Svarshan is never one to /hover/ in the few times he's met him.

The elf slows his walk as the big paladin steps to the threshold of the shop and then out, and then in, and then out again as if something is driving him to distraction. His head cants in curiosity as he turns his direction in the paladin's direction. "Svarshan!" A polite enough greeting once he's close enough. "I didn't expect to see a familiar face out here."

"...mrmph." The reptilian lowers his muzzle to his chest as he responds, as though he'd bit or swallowed invisible words. "Mrmph."

"...one iss escorting one of the sshaman-casste. I was assked questions about a Maggot Man, by one of the ssoftskins." Your kind, that reads in a way. The tail flicks once, and he looks back towards the herbal shop and its doorway. Clearly...

"...have you heard of him, Lorik?" he asks, still watching the door.

"Shaman-caste?" Lorik knows little about Svarshan's people. Tribal, and the shaman would be a powerful figure perhaps. The elf glances towards the door of the shop before he shakes his head at the question.

"Maggot Man? No...I don't think I've heard of anyone like that. I would have remembered. Did he go by a different name?" He asks as he regards the agitated lizard.

"...thiss one does not know. But, the question wass sent to me, and I approached the shamans, who approached the keeperss. ...from my undersstanding, the man was a...

He enjoyed cooking," Svarshan says at length. The tail flicks once, and he tries not to look towards the door. "Enough that he made a deal with the Undying Dragon, who you call Thul." He stands outside the herbal shop, talking with Lorik. It's around mid-day.

"Oh," The shadow elf pauses a long moment. "/Oh/. So he is...not alive in the traditional sense anymore I'd take it?" There is a story here, a long and convoluted one that ends in a horrible bargin from the sound of the start of it.

"I don't think I'd ever like cooking enough to sell my soul to keep doing it. But..." Well he comes from a culture steeped in the worship of Taara. He has /seen/ some things man.

"What questions where they asking? I mean there has to be a reason to search out someone like that."

"According to the. Legends, he wisshed to tasste ambrossia," the sith-makar replies. His eyes are a lazy half-slit. Almost amused, almost, save for the next part: "...and made a deal to not die until he did sso."

"The sshaman did not know the sspecifics of the deal. Sshe only ssaid that when he ate after, he would cursse, claiming the food tassted of ssour flesh. He hass been unliving for ssome. Time."

The tail flicks again, and he looks over his shoulder towards the mul. He'd been watching that door again--the door to the herbalist's, with slight shudders, muscle twitches running from his tail to his shoulders. "Ssome adventurerss had assked. Thiss one doess not know, nor hass one encountered them to pass along the message. Perhapss if you ssee Razen, or Murder, or thiss Morgan you might do sso? Thiss one doess not know /why/ they assked."

"It could be an. Interessting quesstion."

Most of the people who set up stalls in Wilderness Pointe are your usual class of merchant; selling foodstuffs or low to mid-grade luxuries, scraping by comfortably enough in the margins that they can enjoy a decent life in the few months out of the year stolen between trade routes. Ordinary, not much to look at, generally with a commanding voice or a pleasant charm employed to attract buyers.

Then you get merchants like the one currently headed toward the market.

Her cart is rickety and crooked, pulled by draft horses that, while well cared for, have the dull wit and plodding attitude of animals too tired to care about how nervous anything makes them. Which is good, because the loose boards, stained canvas, and vague funk of exotically bad things hints that whatever the merchant is selling, it's likely to either be very good for you, or very, very bad.

And the merchant herself does not ride on the cart's seatboard; rather, she drifts in front of the horses, face masked by a smooth ivory plane, broken only by sly, curling eyeholes. A tatter of mithril drapes from shoulder to past her feet, woven in a seemingly haphazard imitation of cobwebs and tinted bright red, and an impossibly long train of black hair curls and drifts in exactly the wrong direction of the breeze blowing through town.

Also her feet dangle more than a yard from the ground, which doesn't seem to affect her lazy forward momentum one bit.

"...live forever to taste ambrosia. That seems like a poor deal...I mean...someone has to turn you into undead. And then you're stuck that way. Perhaps under control of whoever did it..." Lorik shakes his head slightly before he snaps his gaze up again. "...ah sorry. I think it’s not polite to discuss that sort of thing." He adds for a moment.

"Ah, I know Razen and Morgan. Murder..." A pause. "...I don't know them, but it’s a very unique name. I'll make sure to ask them about it. Maybe they ran into something about...him..."

The rickety cart that rolls by catches his attention. More specifically the floating woman in front of it catches his attention and he just blinks a moment. "I remember her!" He finally blurts out. "From the story contest!"

...ah subtlety. Lorik is not very good with you.

"One sstory, as told by keeper, as retold by sshaman and now repeated by thiss warrior--claimed that an. Avatar of Vardama locked him away. Thiss one imaginess, if he wass desperate for tasste. Perhapss there iss no limit to what he may have tried." Wry, wry humor. Svarshan looks over to Lorik. He looks then to Alba as the man notices her. A smile almost touches his features.

Except scales are not so very good at that. He thumps his tail once, instead.

"Peasse to you, sshaman. Thiss one heard from warriorss, that you may be helping the People." He's quiet for a moment after that, before offering a heartfelt, "Thank you."

"Ho, warriors," the masked woman replies in kind. Pausing to murmur into the ear of one of the horses, she changes direction, as the animals plod on to the market. "Your hearing has been correct, though I do not yet know if I may be of much help beyond sinking terror into the heart of every man and woman of Charn I meet. Which is a help I shall very much enjoy, but I mislike what I have been given to hear and to read."

Eeling into a backward somersault and ending in a sitting pose at eye level with Svarshan, the floating woman's mask tips to one side. "Might this one be better able to introduce a student seeking a teacher to his Shamans, I wonder."

An exceedingly harried looking half-orc is wandering, looking furitively one way and then the other. After a long moment he notices Svarshan, and then his company and looks exceedingly uncomfortable. "Svarshan?" He asks the question as if uncertain if it actually /is/ Svarshan."

There is a shudder from Lorik. "Not a great thing to think about really. Just what he might have tried over the years in his search. I mean...that seems to be a very long time. I'm going to guess though that he's out now. Or people wouldn't be looking for him..."

A pause again though as Svarshan and Alba talk and he looks between the two of them. "Ah you know each other?" Though there is some slight confusion about who 'the People' actually are. So many cultures to try to keep track of its difficult!

Alba's summersault snaps his attention back towards her though. He blinks once. Blinks twice. "Hello," Well they are talking and it seems quite rude to talk without introducing himself. "I'm Lorik..."

It’s that point where a somewhat familiar half-orc comes rolling up and the shadow elf turns to look towards the new arrival and waves easily. But he's talking to Svarshan not him...there is at least a encouraging smile. He totally got the name right.

At the calling-out, he looks over. His tail thumps, once. "Peasse to you?" he asks. States.

"Of myself," Alba answers, slowly dropping down far enough that a toe touches the ground. There. She's totally succumbed to gravity like a normal person, and isn't at *all* just barely paying attention to the niceties of physical laws simply because one of the most powerful holy warriors in Alexadria gets edgy sometimes.

"I have heard about the things that Charn does to the People, of late. I would set my mind to piecing together this pretty little puzzle, and make of their efforts spiderlings in the wind. To do this, I would need to sit at the fires of the shamans, and learn what my knowing lacks." ....And already, she sets herself apart from the attitudes of other arcanists who try to tell Sith wise ones how to wise.

Turning to Lorik, she bobs her head, hair still acting like current-nuzzled kelp. "As this one says, Alba is my name. Of the Balefire ranch, by the Felwood."

Creepy, disdainful of physics, *and* chooses to operate a ranch near one of the most corrupt locales on the continent not yet under Heth's thumb. ....Huh. Though still wary the half-orc steps closer, moving toward the sith-makar slowly. It’s clearly the floating woman who’s giving him pause as he is keeping as far from her as he can. “Thank the gods.” He glances toward the others and pauses again. “Do you have a moment, I have great need of your wisdom.”

There is a lot of talk going on over Lorik's head. Talk of Charn and what they happen to be doing to...he assumes it’s the Sith. Of the People in trouble and Charn behind it. Things that most /sane/ people would say is beyond his paygrade.

"...I know I'm not well learned, and I'm still getting used to this place. But...Svarshan has been fair with me the entire time I've known him. If there is anything I can do to help I'd like to."

Lorik isn't quite sane. Most people would have figured that out by now.

But the revelation and introductions seem to catch his attention. "Oh! You're Alba!" A pause. "...I wish I had known that earlier." He directs the words towards the witch that only now has decided to embrace gravity like lesser mortals. "...I was told to talk to you about the Felwood...since...you live near there and all. But...I can wait..." There is a glance towards Razen. "...since it seems someone else was looking for Svarshan too..."

Svarshan sends Alba a look. For a moment, the warrior is awake, the gaze focused and on fire. "...ssa. There are sshamans one would sshare words with. Thiss one thinkss you may have wordss in common. Perhapss you might go to Fire with them." This, humor. The thumping of tail once in warmth against the earth before he relaxes.

The focus fades, the muscles ease to something more relaxed, and easy. As Svarshan looks over towards the arriving Razen, he quiets again. Quiet and thoughtful before speaking: "Peasse to you. One wass ssharing words with. Friendss of mine. Thiss is Lorik and the witch, Alba. It iss good to ssee you," he says with warmth. Then, pauses. "One had resseived word. One hass asked the sshamans, who have assked the keepers."

"So and just so," Alba murmurs in Svarshan's direction, nodding once. As another approaches to speak to the paladin, Alba moves back a bit -- toe scraping over the ground, because she still doesn't just *walk* like people do -- to end up slightly closer to Lorik.

"It may be, warrior, that this wish to help is regretted in due course. Such things oft happen to they who dip their toes into the sands of my work, and find it too coarse for their liking. What is it that you wish to know?

Razen looks a little more comfortable with the witch a little further away, but even more so knowing that she is a friend of Svarshan's. He spends a moment silent, it's clear that he's not the only one here to speak with the sith-makar on some matter or another. "I do not wish to interrupt, you seem... busy. But you heard? From Murder?" The woman did know the sith-makar better than him after all. "About that demon-vampire thing?"

A branch creaks, and some of the thorny vines move slightly, but noticeably as a silver scaled Sith Makar steps out of the forest. He just seems to....appear...right next to Svarshan. It's only when he steps out of the forest, does the gravel crunch under his footclaws. "Brightscale." he says as he spies Alba....and thumps his tail. To the others....he tilts his head....as they are not familiar.

When Durrankar appears out of nowhere, the warrior looks at him. "Peasse to you," he says, wryly. "One assumes you overheard everything, and there iss no need for thiss one to repeat. Wordss. But pleasse lissten for now, sshaman, one has asked warrior Razen to share hiss. Tale."

"Maggots?" Alba says suddenly, head perking up. "An interesting story this shall be, continue."

"Well it wouldn't be the first time I've regretted sticking my nose into something. And I'm fairly sure it won't be the last." Lorik replies towards Alba, one pointed ear twitching slightly as she slides over towards him. He has /not/ heard stories of her hair turning into snakes yet, so he's not as bothered by it.

Its more impressive than anything else.

He keeps an ear open for what Razen is saying, blinking in surprise at talk of a demon-vampire before looking back towards Alba. There is a crooked smile though. "And you might regret leaving me with such an open ended question...but...I've found evidence in the Felwood. Near the eastern border, of people...stealing and training beasts. Perhaps as mounts? But...that can wait for a bit at least. I'm curious now about...demon-vampires and Maggot Men. It seems serious..."

Durrankar suddenly just...appears next to Svarshan and Lorik takes just a slight step back. "...very serious." Since. You know. Now there are two giant lizardpeople involved. That is twice as serious as one.

Razen nods. "It did turn into maggots there at the end. I thought it was a demon... but I don't know what it is." He sighs and steps closer to the sith-makar. He seems very uncomfortable and then after much internal debate pulls an odd square copper token from his clothes. It bears a toothy grin on it's face and nothing more. He doesn't offer it, instead clutching his fist around it as quickly as he can. "I have a map to a place where I am certain now this coin comes from. And I have been hunted down by this hungry man with a bleeding staff who is weak now and turns to maggots when subdued." He looks with haunted eyes at Svarshan. "You said you knew of demons. Can you tell me what this thing is? How to kill it? Anything?"

"I shall ask my hunters to keep watch," Alba replies, "and see what there is to be seen."

The bulk of her attention, however, is on Razen, and the tale he spins. "So many pretty puzzles, yes," she says, as a tiny red-banded viper slithers out from the nest of her hair to curl around her neck.

"Please...continue..." Durrankar says softly as he listens. He then looks to Svarshan. "If it is the felwood, it must be trying to break through the barrier set up by Suf'rigan and Mictlan....."

"...thiss one asked one's sshamans, who sspoke with the keepers, from the rumorss one had heard. ..." Svarshan does not take his eyes from the piece of paper. Slow intake of breath, as though inhaling.

"The keeperss knew of a sstory of a man who loved great flavorss, more than life itsself. He made a deal with the Undying Dragon to live forever. ...but Sshaman I--the sshamans tell me that there are sstories of him sspitting out food, and claiming it tasstes like dying flesh."

"If it iss vampire, thiss is perhaps true. Another sstory ssugests that an avatar of the Death Ssinging Dragon, who you call Vardama, ssealed him away."

He then holds his hand out, for the paper. "May thiss one take the paper, and examine it at Fire?" he asks. He glances towards Durrankar, then, "One has not heard of that, sshaman. But, one hass heard there are demonss in the Felwood."

Razen shakes his head, clutching the coin to his chest. "I dare not give it to you friend. What if it draws the thing to you?" He glances at the sith-makar's friends and licks his lips.

"All I know for certain is that I found a temple where something of greed was bound and that my companions wanted to see what lay within so I made to open the door and now I have three coins that are not mine to bear. Who knows what they do. If you want to look upon it further Svarshan take me with you. I can not let someone else bear this burden in my place."

"If it draws the creature to *that* one," Alba snorts, "then the creature deserves all the manner of hurts that it will receive."

"I'd thank you for that," Lorik murmurs towards Alba with a bob of his head. "I can always come by your ranch later to talk about it? I'm told there are spiders. I've always gotten along well enough with spiders."

Then the story from Razen goes on and he frowns in thought. "Its that's true Svarshan, then the temple that Razen found might be where they sealed this demon-vampire thing away. If they opened it..." He trails off. "...I'm not entirely up on curses but...that sounds like one. Perhaps going to take a look at this temple would shed some more light on things?" The sith-makar tilts his head to the side. Draws in an uneasy breath, and then looks to Alba, to Durrankar. "Can either of you ward him?" he asks, at first.

His look softens, then. "If an avatar, or sservant of Vardama Hersself locked him away, then perhapss we would lift the ward at a time. And plasse it would harm the leasst. Or--perhapss ssuch a ward would cover our approach, sshould we go to him," he says, with a thump of his tail towards Lorik.

"...how doess this creature sseek to draw you, warrior?" he asks Razen.

"I am sure with Alba's help, we could ward such a creature...then bind it until such a time that it would be destroyed, or banished back to its home plane" Durrankar says before looking to Razen. "From three coins, you say...."

Razen relaxes slightly, tucking the coin away and nodding. "A warding would be good. Help better. I would be happy to lead you and all your friends that wish to come to where this temple is." He clearly doesn't understand much of what's being said, but the important bits - like getting rid of this thing - he does. "As for what draws it to me I don't know. The coin? It did..."

He looks a bit ill. "It did ask me to feed it, and tried to bite my fist off."

“One meanss we ward Razen, sshaman," Svarshan corrects in quieter tones, and then looks towards the half-oruch.

He draws a breath. "Thiss is sshaman-matter," he says. "But you will be ssafe," he adds, adding the words of the warrior-caste.

"I haven't known Svarshan very long," Lorik tries to sound reasuring as he aims his words towards Razen. "But I'm fairly positive that if he says you'll be safe, then you will indeed be safe." His smile curves upward with a touch of amusement to it before he tilts his head to one side curiously. "Where is this temple anyway? Perhaps there should be a warning put up somewhere until we all find out what is going on and put an end to it?"

"Such a thing may well be done," Alba says, noding once. "Unpleasant it may be, but unpleasant is oft better than dead."

The viper looks to Lorik, and one can almost *hear* the witch's mouth creak into a smile. "Great spiders, yes. Their silk has many uses, and is coveted much more than the creatures themselves. Also it aids in slowing the tide of the Felwood's corruptive spread, what I do. Also, yes, I would hear of this temple and pry loose its secrets..."

Durrankar says, "if you seek the temple, while we are warding The sharpear, Alba. Perhaps you should choose some choice friends to join you....."

"I do not care so much about safety." Though being warded sounded wise if discomforting. "It is as much my business as anyone's - it chooses to haunt me after all. As for the temple it lays far out into the desert hidden among the dunes. It is unlikely any other will find it without the map; thank the gods."

Razen shifts uncomfortably watching everyone at once, but mostly Svarshan.

Lorik chuckles. "My family used to run a similar ranch, back where I'm from. Spidersilk is one of the few things I do miss. The whole backstabbing culture? Not so much." A rueful smile at that before he pauses. "...and the silk aids in slowing the corruption? I didn't know that...or do the spiders themselves..."

Well that is...good information. Though he does blink, and then offer an impish grin. "I did warn you about questions didn't I?"

Razen's reply though at least lets him breathe a slight touch easier. "Well that is one less thing to worry about, yes?"

Ga'Elian walks out of a copse of trees nearby and approaches the gathered group, nodding his salutation. He says, "Good day, friends. Svarshan had brought a shaman with him this morning, who started to relate the tale of a Maggot Man. She was interrupted, so I went about other business. Anyway, I was coming back to find out if she were ready to resume her telling."

Some here are familiar to the ranger, others are not. To those, he introduces himself simply as, "Ga'Elian" with a polite bow of his head.

"Only warded as a hunter wearss her camouflage, to better take itss prey." The words come with a warm roll, the purr of a predator as it tastes possibility in its jaws, before pouncing. Svarshan's overall countenance is warm and comfortable, however. The shoulders relaxed.

"Peasse to you," he says to the arriving hunter, then. "The sshaman is healing, and drinking from mangoss in the building nearby. One wass asked to fetch pepper-jerky from the market," he says, chuffing in humor. Did he leave this spot? Right outside of the building?

Despite being asked to?

Of course not. Warrior-caste, and the words show his humor.

"A shaman?" Razen had heard the other's mentioning a shaman but he had not thought much of it. "Who was this? Are they being hunted by this thing too?"

"Ah," Alba says of the temple's location. "Home. Much and more dangers for the foolish and unwary hidden in the Dune Sea. Best that I see this map, and be guide to those who would join. Shaman," she says to Durrankar, "best that we not be sluggard of this, yes? We shall ward this one before I go to Mictlan, and a copy of the map I shall make for my keeping."

As still another person pops in to join the conversation, Alba drifts back a bit. "Come to the ranch," she says to Lorik. "Much and more I may explain. For now... my horses are clever, but lack hands, and so may not set up or sit a market-stall of their own. For now, I go."

Ga'Elian smiles, "It pleases me that she is doing well. He who was chopping firewood was also much fatigued, it turns out. He went to rest also. And the boar I hunted is in the butcher's management now. Hunting boar is fine, but it sounds like there is much more exciting hunting going on."

Durrankar coughs into his claws. "I...am a shaman, Sharp ear."

"One conssulted with Shaman Itza, who sshared words with the keeper casste. It iss from them that one drew the words. That I sshared with you, warrior. Sshe is just ressting," Svarshan says to Razen. A pause, then. Humored, "Though there are three sshamans here. Sshaman Durrankar, Sshaman Alba. And Shaman Itza, who iss resting insside. Perhapss one might usse their namess, as well. It iss just not--"

"--not as common, outsside of the Firess. To mention ssome namess sso cassualy."

"And here I stand unintroduced and unknown to some of you. I am Razen." He nods to those he has not met, specifically Durrankar whom reminded him of his forgetfulness in the face of everything. "I am curious how she knew, but I hope it was not in meeting the thing."

"There wass word left at the temple, warrior, by you or friendsss of. Yourss. One hass been looking for you for ssome time," Svarshan admits, thoughtfully. He pauses, "But one thought one would sspeak with the sshamans, in case."

The warrior looks out towards the door though. As he does, it opens. An aged sith-makar steps out. She is old, with scars from a long life and previous battles. Her scales are brilliant, in the way of an older draconic. And, she carries a short cane, tipped with raptor feathers.

"What are you doing sstill here?" she asks. She shakes her staff at the warrior, apparently in good humor. "Peasse to all of you," she says, then. "Thiss one is Shaman Itza."

Durrankar says, "Peace to you, Shaman." He says thumping his tail. "I just got here myself.""

Ga'Elian bows uncharacteristically low to Itza. When he rises, he says, "Peace to you as well. The beginning of your words this morning has been teasing my curiosity ever since." Razen also offers a low nod which is nearly a bow to the elder sith-makar. "It seems it is my tale she tells though I have never met her. It must have come from one of my companions in the journey, or one of those there when the creature came seeking me out." He shudders a little at the memory.

"Thiss one is not old!" Itza protests, as she moves to stand by Svarshan. A low growl, a hrmph, follows in her throat. Svarshan looks towards Durrankar for a moment, and then Razen. I hear you both, that look says.

I would like to continue to live, that look also says, from Svarshan. I am not saying a WORD.

"Hiss bite may decay the living. Sso the keepers ssuggested to me, and sso I relay the words," the shaman replies. Shaman Itza thumps her cane against the earth again, but lightly. "Other wordss, you now know. ...you," she says, with a look at Razen, as the man speaks up. "There are sshadows hanging over you. Come to Fire, or vissit the Temple of the Death Ssinging Dragon, and get yoursself warded. Before the wormss eat you."

Durrankar says, "The Temple of the Death Singing Dragon will have better wards than I." he says turning slowly. "I should get back to Mictlan, Shaman." He says starting back into the forest.

"I would like to be warded yes." Razen looks a bit embarrassed. "Where is this fire you speak of?" Temple of Death sounded terribly ominous, and he had not seen such a place amid the temples to the gods. In an unfamiliar city it would not have been hard to miss it.

Ga'Elian looks from Itza to Razen with a curious expression. "You have seen this abomination?" Then he waves to Durrankar.

Returning his focus to Itza, he says, "I took from your earlier words that this Maggot Man became what he is by his own request directly to Heth. To so so, one assumes he was already craven or else beyond foolish."

Again he turns to the half-oruch and says, "The sacred fire of which she speaks is not in the city, but in the community of Mictlan, northwest of here."

Again he turns to the half-oruch and says, "The sacred fire of which she speaks is not in the city, but in the community of Mictlan, northwest of here." "It iss a term for..." words. Svarshan falls silent. Quiet, as he contemplates words. "...ssa, as the hunter Ga'elian tells it. One would go to the Temple of Vardama, the Death Ssinging Dragon. If a sservant of Vardama wass involved in the beginning. Then it would make sseense to go to. Them." His tail flicks once.

"You call him Thul," Shaman Itza says to Ga'elian. Then reaches out, and nudges the warrior-caste with her cane. "Come, now. There are ssmall ones who will want their treat, warrior. They would be remiss if we did not return with it."

Razen watches them go and turns his attention toward Ga'Elian. "I will exchange a story for directions to this place where I can be warded." He offers the other man a small hopeful smile.

Ga'Elian raises his eyebrow at the correction. He sheepishly comments to Razen, "Oh. Thul. At first, she merely said the Undying Dragon. I mistook her to mean Heth, as he is a dragon, ancient beyond memory, and one who fills his countryside with weights. But technically Heth is only in dragon form. He is said to truly be a daemon of the Void. And I forgot for that moment, that the Sith'makar tend to refer to all the gods as some dragon or other."

He goes on. "I'll do you one better. I'll take you there, if you don't mind traveling with an elf. Would you prefer to walk through the woods or fly over them on my griffon?"

Razen grins with relief. "It would be my pleasure, and whichever way gets us there faster." Which likely meant flying, but that was better than sticking around waiting for some mad demon to arrive.

-End-