Thursday, October 18, 2018

“It’s Not Just a Dagger” - A Tale of Heroes - Scene 69: Granthurg

It was mid-morning, but it was still dark and gloomy outside of the cathedral hall. Where normally the rising sun would have streamed bright colors through the eastern stained glass windows, like it had just the day before, now thick rainclouds made it almost as dark as the night. Rain streamed down from those windows, beating with the winds against the panes.

Granthurg sat at a table that had been set up in the back of the sanctuary, strewn with scrolls and a few books. The corner was lit by a few oculus lanterns, creating a glow that made the pages shine and fed his hunger for understanding.

The Dragon’s Flame. The Dragon’s Flame... He leaned back in the chair and heard it creak with strain under his huge weight. He wiped his face with his hands and rubbed his eyes.

He reached over and picked up the ivory dagger. He hefted it, musing. Why does everyone seem to want you bad enough to kill for you? 

When he and Thissraelle had gotten back from the barge late last night, he had wanted to break open his scrolls immediately. Thissraelle had convinced him to get some sleep first. He agreed, but didn’t sleep that much, and got up early anyway. The few resident monks were already moving about and attending to their daily lives, and helped him to set up the table.  As he began to spread out his scrolls, they had mentioned that the Father kept a small library in his chambers there at the cathedral.

Granthurg set the blade back down and turned a few more pages in the tome he had been looking through. It seemed to be records and observations kept by the Father about religious influences in the south of Wynne.

He turned another page and looked at its title: How Can We Justify the Sacerdotis Confesoris? What? He read about the tortures used to extract confessions by some in the city of Twynne Rivers. Intrigued, he turned the page again, but there was no more on the topic. I wonder if this is why Antonerri and DeFrantis didn’t want to come here to the cathedral.

He turned a page, then another, skipping ahead to see if there were more on the topic, then stopped, staring at a drawing on the page. That’s it! That’s the dragon breathing flame! It was a drawing of a dragon with spread wings holding its head up, blowing tongues of fire up into the sky, the whole image surrounded by a circle. He picked up the blade and turned it to place the pommel next to the drawing. The dragon’s tails were curled in different loops, and the flames flickered with differing tongues, but they were too similar to be a coincidence.

The door to the sanctuary creaked as it swung open. Brother Mathazar stepped in. “I’m sorry to bother you. It’s so good to have company here, so we love to accommodate whenever we do!”

Granturg looked up, distracted. A man stepped in behind the Brother, the man Granthurg had fought in the field the day before. He walked with a bit of a limp and soreness, and his hands and feet were chained. His face was down, and he didn’t look nearly as threatening as he had then. The fact that he was flanked by two armed and armored town guards ready to take him into custody made him even less so.

Brother Mathazar shrugged. “He said he wanted to talk to you before he left.”  He stepped back, and nodded to the two guards before gently closing the door. It clicked in the heavy, awkward silence.

Finally, without looking up, the man spoke. “You brought me back here and had me healed.” Granthurg just looked at him closely, until he continued. “I couldn’t move. You could have easily left me there in the meadow, in pain, for the wolves. Now, I’m alive. I can walk.” He looked at the shackles on his wrist.

He looked up at Granthurg and the things on the table, seeing the dagger. He smiled a little. “I guess you do have it, after all.”

Granthurg laughed and picked it up. “This isn’t mine. My boss--My friend owns it. I had no idea this was what all of you were after. I don’t know what it is, still.”

The man shrugged. “Others will still come after it. Lots of people want it. Lots of powerful people. Lots of people who aren’t powerful enough, yet.” He looked at Granthurg and smiled. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell them you have it. I’ll tell them it’s gone. I owe you that much.” The guards looked at each other with uneasy glances, then pulled on the chains, moving him toward the door.  “Looks like I’ve got to go.”

“Yes,” Granthurg replied, adding, “Bless your steps.” The man nodded, accepting the blessing, and stepped toward the door, chains clinking on the floorboards. The guards opened the sanctuary door with a creak.

“A question for you!” Granthurg blurted. The man stopped and looked back. “You said I was going to sell this to The Dragon’s Flame. Who is that?”

He nodded. “I only know what I’ve heard. I was sent from Twynne Rivers and I don’t know Dirae very well. But it’s said that they’re a dark and dangerous cult that worships dragons. I think they were tangled up with the slavers at the old inn. Don’t let them know that you have that blade. I’ll bet that won’t go well for you.” He took in a breath, then bowed his head slightly toward Granthurg. “Bless your steps.”

Granturg nodded, and the man stepped through door. As it closed, Granthurg looked back down to the image on the page.

Worships dragons?


This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
Thank you: Chet Cox!

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