Warp Token 2 Word Update

2k words

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He ordered a round of ale, Roderick and the officers gathering for a toast. One of the maids poured their beers, Roderick’s tankard filled to the brim with wonderful froth that passed cooly down his throat. It felt good to have a stiff drink in his hand, he’d been getting sick of the old spirits that Von Kessel kept on his ship.

One by one, the rest of the crew began to filter inside, and before long the inn was alive with chatter. The wounded were brought upstairs into their rooms, while the more able were quick to fill their bellies with food and drink. There wasn’t any of that famous Brettonian wine on hand, the village couldn’t even afford a stable, much less a vintage, but the beer taps were good enough for the crew, who had been eating the same rotation of meals for several weeks straight.

They put the innkeep and his barmaids to work, all seventy Imperials quick to demand warm food. It took almost an hour, but finally platters were brought out. There was goose meat aplenty, entire birds with bones and all served out with sides of cranberries, apples, and other assorted fruits, drizzled in a creamy relish that tasted like ginger.

There was also braised chickens, served with fluffy mashed potatoes and gravy, along with root vegetables like carrots and onions. Everything was well worth the wait, the men digging in without even waiting for their cutlery. There were three courses brought out, and it took the men all but twenty minutes to devour it all. Almost going down with your ship tended to make one ravenous. Roderick made sure that portions were brought up to the wounded.

The inn was rowdy with laughter and commentary, beer and meat raising their spirits. It had been a long, arduous day of marching, but now they had the safety of walls, and a modicum of civilisation where they could feel at peace for a time.

The merriment eventually attracted more of the locals, and before long, the suspicious villagers were mingling with the crew. Roderick doubted that the quaint village had ever seen such activity before in many years, much less from a band of men from the Empire.

Stories were swapped back and forth, Roderick mostly hearing things that the old man, Joren, had already told him. Pirates scoured the coast, the elves to the east and west continued to sit in their forests, and dragons from the mountains burned the land. Strangely, when Roderick mentioned the Skaven, nobody seemed to know what he was talking about. Rat men had not set foot in Lyonesse for almost a decade. They were certain that the clanship that had sunk their ship must have belonged to an undead wight horde or some such, and refused to believe otherwise.

Once Roderick had his fill, he grabbed a few of his comrades and prepared to set up camp. Even if everyone laid out in neat rows on the dining floor, there wouldn’t be enough room for all of them. They would have to procure some tents, but that was not a problem. One of the kindly villagers was a seamstress, and she was kind enough to lend some of her spare blankets and canvas, allowing the men to set up makeshift camps outside the inn. There wasn’t a lot to go around, and sharing a tent with five or six other men would be far from comfortable, but it was better than sleeping out in the open.

The first pyre came out around six of the clock.

He didn’t see where they got it from, only that six men came walking up the engraved street with a giant beam held between them. Roderick was brought to their attention by a nearby sailing touching him on the arm, the Imperials watching the procession pass the inn. The six villagers didn’t’ so much as glance their way as they quested towards the edge of town.

It was around twelve feet long, with a horizontal log placed on one end. The men soundlessly turned off the road a short distance into the wilderness, and then placed the pole in a hole in the ground that looked like it had been dug up recently. They laid it out like they were setting up a way sign, and it was only when they pushed up the pole to stand, that Roderick realised there was someone strapped to it.

It was a younger gentlemen, no older than Roderick himself, and he wore a black cloak like that of a monk or wizard. His hair was a striking shade of silver, or perhaps white, Roderick was too far away to tell. His handsome features were resting in sleep, his eyes clamped shut.

The carriers rummaged around for sticks and twigs, gathering a pyre below the stake. When that was done, one of them produced a flint and tender, and lit a spark. Roderick lurched forward, about to raise his voice, when someone grabbed his wrist. He turned, seeing it was Joren.

“Good knight, heed me. It would be best if you kept your distance from them.”

“Joren? What is the meaning of this?” Roderick asked, gesturing at the pole, which had begun to ignite from the bottom. “Why are they burning that man?”

“That,” Joren said. “Is no man, but a forsaken creature of the night. He came to our village three days’ past, lost and hungry, not unlike your band. We let him into our homes, we welcomed him with bread and water, and what did he give us in return? He left his mark on three of our folk before he was put to the sword the very night he came to us.”

“What sort of mark?” Roderick asked.

Joren peeled down the neck of his tunic, exposing his jugular to the light, which was now being provided by the growing bonfire nearby. There were two red pinpricks on the side of his throat.

“Are those…?” Roderick began, but he already knew the answer.

“Vampiric beasts seem to think our village an easy mark,” Joren said, the marks disappearing as he hoisted up his collar. “But the flames help to ward them away. If any were following your band, they should keep away this night.”

They watched the pole catch on the wild flames, until the body blurred into a dark lump in its red robe. The cloak the man wore rippled and tore, the flecks catching on the wind like black embers.

“How did you manage to kill it?” Roderick asked.

“I managed to yell out a warning before it cast its spell on me, and the folk came running. He wore no weapons but his teeth, but we have pitchforks and daggers, and we outnumbered him. Once they lose their element of surprise, a vampire goes down as easy as any man.”

Two more poles came out, then a third, two with men strapped to the cross, and one with a woman. The villagers set each one up to all four points of the compass, a short distance from town, but close enough that Roderick could sense the heat on his skin whenever he went outside. That smell of roasting meat was impossible to ignore, and some of the less weathered men began to feel queasy. Roderick was unfortunately used to the stench, he’d been around hundreds of battlefields, and bodies always burned in warfare. The villagers were just as nonplussed by the smell, and the implications left Roderick unsettled.

He found it hard to find sleep that night, and not just because he shared his tent with five other men who snored. Everything had happened so damned quickly. They’d been cruising steadily towards Imperial seas, Roderick’s main concern being if he could get all his rations cut in time. And in the next moment, he was fighting for his life, his lover was gone, and now he was stranded inside a foreign country filled with vampires, dragons, and Gods-knew what other kinds of creatures. And still, the lands of his homeland were nowhere in sight.

He still couldn’t quite process that Skyseeker was gone, Wilfred too. They were his closest companions, not to say that he was not familiar with Von Kessel and his crew, but they had been his true friends for his exile, and he felt lonely without them. He meant what he said, he did not think Skyseeker was dead, but the second-guessing was becoming harder to deny, and it would only get more difficult with each passing day, where her whereabouts yet remained unknown.

And the relic remained a constant weight on his shoulders. He had to keep a constant watch over it, but not just in the physical sense. It had not plagued his thoughts much since the shipwreck, but who was to say it wasn’t biding its time, waiting for him to let his guard down? If only Wilfred were here in his place, he was the expert in magical matters, Roderick was not suited to watching over magical artifacts.

Roderick tossed and turned, then eventually gave it up, instead focusing on his meditation. Wilfred had taught him a few simple magic practices that were supposed to shield him from the relic’s influence. They weer supposed to calm his heartrate, make him more focused on his self.

Roderick focused on his breathing, like he’d been told, resting his hands on his crossed legs. Completing these wards without Wilfred’s guidance was a daunting process. For all he knew, he might invite more daemons into his vicinity if he did them wrong, but he would have to do them by himself one day.

“Let’s see if I can finally pick up this whole magic business, old friend,” Roderick murmured, closing his eyes and trying to clear his mind.

-xXx-

That was how Roderick and Von Kessel’s band travelled over the next four days. They would follow the pristine cobbled road towards the north, and break camp off the path twice a day, once at midday, the other at night.

They bought and traded what supplied they could from the holdfasts and villages along the way. Tents, horses, mules, packs, anything that they could afford. It made the going a little easier, but Roderick was still forced to share his sleeping space with the other men each night.

It wasn’t much of a bother, however. It brought Roderick back to his days as a foot soldier, where sharing a barracks was a way of life. In fact, working and living alongside the crew could be construed as a positive. They all knew his history by this point, they knew he used to command armies, and seeing someone of that former rank share in their living conditions went some ways to improving morale. Roderick knew a few things about keeping a hungry band marching, and sharing meals with them was a way of gaining more familiarity. Demanding his own private tent would only serve to segregate himself from the rest.

There were no other travellers on the road until the second day.  There was a wagon transporting a noble couple, also heading north. They were accompanied by a pair of knights riding horseback, their silver and blue armour glinting in the light of the sun. Von Kessel was able to get close for introductions, but no help was provided. In fact, they demanded the band of men wait until the wagon crested the next hill, not willing to have a small army of men so close. Roderick supposed he couldn’t blame them for that.

There were wayfarers, a few groups horseman, pilgrims and wanderers, all heading towards the capital. Some looked upon the Imperial band with curiosity, some with intrigue, some fear, but the worst was none of these. Those on foot watched their mules and horses with covetous eyes, but any thoughts of robbery were quelled under their sheer number. The crew may not be very well armed, or all that home without their ship, but their numbers were a relative safety that few could overcome.