Chapter 15: DD2 Chapter 009 – Smoke

Cawic was a remote little shithole; Arilla didn’t need to be let inside to know that much. The village was walled and built atop a small hill as most settlements tended to be this close to the Dragonspines. The stout fortifications that encapsulated the small village had clearly seen better days. The stonework was visibly crumbling as the old bricks succumbed to the elements, neglect and what looked to be a fairly comprehensive mauling from a myriad of wild beasts. If the deep gouges and claw marks that covered the sides of the walls were anything to go by, then the letter that Typh had uncovered had, if anything, underplayed the true extent of Cawic’s nightly raids. 

Arilla idly wondered if she should perhaps be more hesitant to approach a settlement that was having such trouble with the wild creatures of the foothills. The letter mentioned mid-pewter threats, and she had yet to test herself against a beast higher levelled than clay. Her own prodigious kill count included far too many humans who she likely could not have defeated if it wasn’t for the aid of the dragon currently slumbering on her back. Still, Arilla found her steps hurried as she marched off of the Old Road and towards the walled village. 

Whenever she thought about slowing down, she was reminded of how she had left the people in Rhelea’s slums to fend for themselves. She couldn’t help but remember how the smoke had been visible for days in the distance even when the heavy snow filled the air. In Rhelea things were complicated, too complex to be solved with the edge of her sword, but hopefully in Cawic, that wouldn’t be the case.

Arilla felt like she deserved a simple problem for once.

The village was set just to the side of the Old Road rather than over it as was often the custom for larger settlements, likely because the settlers were unable to afford the complex runework that was necessary to bridge the ancient expanse of warded stone. While the Old Roads were the arteries through which trade, travelers and armies traversed every country in Astresia, the mystical properties that ensured the roads’ immaculate condition thwarted attempts to place long-standing enchantments over it. Any walled settlement that was built astride the roads, had to have at least two glaring weak points where the runes and wards were substantially more complex if not weaker.

There were signs of battle all around Cawic that even the recent snowfall failed to hide. Great pockmarks and craters marred the ground and stone walls centered around a massive breach in the fortifications where large claw marks almost as tall as a man made it clear something had gotten through. Feeling a new sense of urgency, Arilla picked up the pace. She adjusted the weight of the slumbering dragon on her back as she marched forwards, her strides shortened by the knee high snow that confounded even her stat-empowered strength. 

Once Arilla was within spitting distance of the fortified gate, a high-pitched voice rang out over the top of the battlements. The challenge was accompanied by the presence of a skinny youth wearing a leather skullcap who peeked over the edge, a steel tipped javelin clearly visible in the young man's nervous hands.

“Halt! Who goes there?” the youth called out.

“We’re adventurers, we got your message. Now open up!” Arilla responded, the foul weather and her fatigue testing her already short patience.

“You did? W—Wait just there,” the guard said moments before his head quickly disappeared behind the wall.

“What? No! Let us in! It’s cold out here!” Arilla yelled back to the empty fortifications.

She had to wait an interminably long time, where she paced back and forth in front of the gate to the comforting sounds of Typh’s mouth-breathing, while she internally debated how much stamina it would take to jump the twenty or so feet required to clear the crenelations. Her attempts to keep warm were eventually brought to a stop by the sound of a prolific tirade of swearing that, even muffled by the thick gates, gave Arilla several new curse words to memorise and sexual positions to investigate at a later date.

The thick, battle-scarred doors swung open, although not very far as they soon became mired in the snow. Greeting her on the other side was an aged man tagged as a low bronze ranger, and the same unclassed youth from the top of the wall. The boy seemed to be suitably mortified by the profanity-laden tirade that had clearly been directed at him, that Arilla felt no need to further vent her frustrations for having been left outside in the cold.

“Thank the gods you came," the older man said, his sincere tone at odds with the harshness of his gravelly voice. “My name is Tonisim and I suppose I have the dubious honour of welcoming you to Cawic.”

“I’m Arilla, and this is Typh," the warrior said, nodding towards the sleeping mage on her back. “And it was on the way," Arilla added, the ranger quirking a bushy eyebrow at that.

“Regardless, you’re here now. I can see that you're weary from your journey. Machero here can show you to the inn.... Where is the rest of your team? Are they out scouting the area?”

“No, it’s just the two of us.”

“Oh," the ranger said, as a look of palpable disappointment appeared on his wrinkled face, which in his defence he tried to fight. His cheeks strained valiantly to keep the broad smile on his lips, but ultimately, he failed, settling into a more comfortable frown. “No matter, we are grateful for all the help that we can get. You two should get settled, and I’ll have the Steward come talk to you in a few hours. Things don’t get interesting around here until nightfall anyway.”

“Thanks. Interesting how?” Arilla asked, causing the man to grimace.

“It would be best if you waited to see it for yourself. Words don’t quite do it justice.”

“You sound like you’re scared we’ll run off," Arilla said, half joking, wincing as the man's face fell dramatically in response.

“Perhaps I am; things are getting desperate here and if you two hadn’t shown up then I don’t know what we would do..." Tonisim said trailing off. “But it doesn’t matter, you’re here now. Machero, please, stop gawking and show them to the inn, and make sure that they get the good rooms.”

Arilla had a lot of questions to ask, but she was beyond exhausted from having marched and fought through the night whilst Typh slumbered on her back. The dragon had only half-woken for just long enough to fling a deadly manabolt at the winter beasts that unerringly flocked to them like moths to a flame as they followed the Old Road north. Arilla quickly made the decision that her curiosity could wait until after she had closed her eyes for a few hours. While her stats and her skills had made it bearable, even with the lack of sleep in the preceding days, it was a long way from easy or comfortable. The allure of a warm bed and a hot meal was more than she could resist in her current state. 

 

The youth, Machero, wasn’t the talkative sort, an unclassed teen clearly too small for his armour, that looked to be older than he was. Perhaps she was being too hard on him, but he had hardly made a great first impression, and the way that he kept stealing sidelong glances at her with a mixture of jealousy and spite wasn’t helping things. Arilla was all too familiar with looks like that since returning to Rhelea with her high-level and runic-plate. 

Her already impressive suit of ratling skill-forged armour had then been further improved by the arcane knowledge of a Sovereign Dragon. While it wasn’t the prettiest set of plate she had seen, lacking the gold embellishments, studded gemstones or enamelled decorations that so many other suits tended to have, what it lacked in aesthetics it made up for in raw practicality and mana efficiency. The skills involved in its forging made the armour super dense, something utterly impossible to wear without an inflated strength score like her own. The runic enchantments made her practically invulnerable, for as long as she had the mana to fuel the runework. While it was hardly perfect, it was utterly out of reach for so many adventurers who wouldn’t be able to dream of purchasing something so expensive, at least until iron rank. Even so, it was getting to be too light for her, its construction designed for a level twenty warrior, not someone pushing forty. 

Following close behind her sullen guide, her head was on a swivel as she scanned her surroundings for potential threats and information. The village itself was not overly large, scarcely more than two dozen buildings scattered haphazardly within the walls, but the small town had its own blacksmithy, temple, inn, stables and public baths, any one of which would be an oddity for a village so small. Without fail, these buildings were old and in dire need of some additional care, the peeling paint and splintered wood showing the faded majesty of a better time.

“It’s the dragon’s fault,” Machero said. The youth must have caught her staring, given how he decided to volunteer some information.

“What is?”

“This,” the boy said, gesturing at the larger buildings so out of place in a small village like Cawic. “Cawic used to be one of more than a dozen villages along the Old Road that catered to travellers and merchants who were heading to Lintumia through the pass, but after Traylra fell…”

“No one travels the road anymore,” she finished for him, the boy nodding.

“It sucks. Cawic is the last village left. The others have all been abandoned or turned over to the dragon,” Machero explained, spitting in the snow as if to cleanse his mouth from the dirty word.

“I’m sorry? What do you mean?” she asked.

“The dragon, it lures villagers into its city with offers of protection and then it eats them,” Machero stated matter-of-factly.

Arilla found herself looking to Typh, who took this as an opportune moment to drool on her shoulder. 

“How do you know that?”

“Everyone knows that,” the youth said, looking at her like she was stupid. “The only reason Cawic hasn’t been taken is that we can fend for ourselves. That and we aren’t desperate like the others; we make enough from the mountains to trade with Rhelea for what we can’t craft for ourselves.”

“I see,” Arilla replied, as she tried to figure out how much of what the boy had said was true.

Her relationship with Typh had given her a thoroughly unique perspective on creatures like the dragon, so it took her a while to realise what was wrong with what Machero was saying.

“You’re talking like the dragon is intelligent. It’s just a dumb lizard attracted to shiny things,” she tried, almost panicking for a moment when Typh twitched in his sleep.

“You city types…” Machero trailed off, shaking his head. “Of course it’s intelligent, calls itself a king and everything. Gods below, half the village think we should go to it for protection from the monsters.”

“And the other half?”

“They think it sends them,” he said gravely, allowing Arilla to make a guess at what the youth believed.

Cawic was not a large settlement, and it didn’t take them long to reach the inn as a result. Machero led them on a path which circled around a large bonfire in the centre of what could have once been the village green. 

The pyre was still going, and was tended to by a small group of adults who stoked it with fresh wood before her eyes. Their activity sent choking plumes of thick black smoke up into the sky. It wasn’t until she was closer that Arilla could see that they were burning the corpses of half a dozen different creatures which was another odd detail. ‘Monster’ carcasses were a prized source of meat, and their organs and hides could be sold for a small fortune if you could find the right buyer. Given the sub-freezing temperatures their storage wasn’t really an issue, so it didn’t make sense to Arilla for a remote village to dispose of such a potentially large source of wealth, especially if that meant giving up perfectly good firewood in a harsh winter. She knew that some people were superstitious about monster-meat, but usually cold hard silver had a way of dispelling any lingering fears of bad juju. 

She didn’t have long to think about it, as soon enough she was being led inside the inn which dominated the centre of the town. It was a large building, far too large for a village of this size, and as she entered it, she was struck by how upmarket it was. Unlike the exterior, the interior had been well cared for, the old carpentry from when the inn was an important stop on a valuable trade route having been well maintained and discreetly repaired over the years. Tapestries and fine art still decorated the walls, even if they were obscured slightly by the thick pipesmoke hanging heavy in the air.

The taproom was busy, but the atmosphere was bleak. The villagers of Cawic were drinking away their sorrows as if they fully expected to die tomorrow. The patrons indulged in an unpalatable mixture of obvious mourning and alcohol-fueled depression, the latter being something that Arilla had far more experience with than she would have liked. Despite the light streaming in through the windows, the villagers made the bar feel dark and sombre, and as much as she hated herself for it, she felt her hand itch for a bottle.

Arilla shook her head at her own weakness and walked towards the innkeeper, the man polishing an already immaculate mug as all men with that class seemed so compelled to do. She saw that every eye was on her, which was fair, considering that with Typh on her back she surely made for an interesting sight.

She promptly dumped Typh onto an empty barstool, the dragon awaking with a start.  

“We’re here?” Typh asked, yawning.

“Yeah, we’re here," she answered, ignoring Machero’s looks of derision. “You can go, kid. We can take it from here.”

“I’m supposed to get you a room," he said, defensively.

“We can get a room by ourselves, kid,” Typh said, quick to take up the epithet.

“I’m not a kid, and you’re barely older than me," Machero replied, but upon seeing the unimpressed looks that his statement earned him, he quickly decided to leave.

“There’s a surprisingly large amount of wealth here," Typh declared after sniffing the air conspicuously for a few seconds before turning to face Arilla. “So what have we got?”

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“I don’t know, but it's weird. Something odd is happening after dark, looks like monster attacks, but if it was that simple then why aren't they attacking during the day? There’s a gaping hole in their walls and they’re burning monster corpses rather than butchering them.”

Typh cleared his throat.

“Fine, they’re burning creature corpses which they should be eating," Arilla said, correcting herself.

“Odd. I can think of a few reasons for that. None of them good. Sure these people don’t practice some obscure religion? Anything with the word ‘purity’ in it is usually a bad sign,” he offered, stretching out on his stool like a cat.

Arilla looked around at the collection of dour and grubby faces collected in the taproom. 

“I don’t think these people are that big on purity, but who knows, times are changing. They say an angel descended in Epheria,” she offered with a noncommittal shrug. 

“Angels don't exist. It’s probably just a mage fucking around,” Typh snorted dismissively. 

“Maybe, the Terythian church seems pretty convinced. You wouldn’t believe how many screaming matches I overheard back at the temple about it.”

“If they were screaming about it they can’t be all that convinced.” 

“I’ll give you that," she admitted, leaning forwards over the bar and facing the innkeeper. “I think that mug is clean enough, can we get some service here?”

“Of course, you don’t have to be rude about it. I just didn’t want to interrupt your conversation. I was being polite," the innkeeper said pointedly. “And we don’t worship any obscure gods here, just the same ascended spirits that are revered in every temple.”

“Sorry about that, I haven’t slept in a while,” Arilla apologised.

“She gets cranky when she’s tired,” Typh offered.

“Think nothing of it," the innkeeper said, a wide smile breaking out on their face as his grumpy attitude morphed into a picture of congeniality, “So, what can I do for you two?”

“A room and some hot food," Typh said quickly.

“Two rooms. And yes, a hot meal would be nice," Arilla clarified, ignoring the look of disappointment that bloomed on Typh’s face.

“That I can do. Would you like hot pottage or hot pottage?" the innkeeper offered.

“Don’t you have anything with meat in it?” Typh asked.

“No," the innkeeper said dourly. “Our hunters haven’t been able to range the foothills as they usually do so it’s looking to be a tight winter if this keeps up.”

“Why can’t they hunt?” 

“Because they’re either dead already, or have the good sense to stay put. Can’t be having the few people left who know how to use a weapon off in the hills hunting wild game when they’re needed on the walls.”

“Is it that bad?” Arilla asked, earning herself a shrug from the innkeeper. 

“Depends on how you look at things. Half the people in Cawic seem to think the missing hunters fled south to Rhelea, the other half, that they were taken by the dragon up in Trayla. Honestly not sure which option I prefer. Either way they ain't here when we need ‘em.”

“Why would the dragon take them?” Typh asked.

The innkeeper looked like he was about to say something but after looking up from them to surveil the room, he seemed to think better of it. “I’ll get you your pottage now, you can either eat at the bar or pick a table. The locals don’t bite, you know.”

Typh looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but Arilla’s gauntleted hand on his shoulder seemed to stop him. The dragon's social instincts were improving but he still lacked the knowledge of when to stop a conversation before it became an interrogation. Something that Arilla wasn’t yet willing to let happen, at least, not until after the town’s Steward made their eventual arrival.

They decided to move to a table, more out of consideration for how mortified Arilla felt sitting in front of the innkeeper than anything else. Eventually their pottage was served, a watery stew of winter vegetables spiced with some roots she couldn’t identify. Typh turned her nose up at it, electing to eat some dried jerky from their packs whereas, despite Arilla’s vastly improved station, she wasn’t so far away from her time on the streets that she couldn’t appreciate the meal, even if it was a little thin.

They ate in silence, Typh periodically yawning into her sleeve and Arilla trying very much not to do the same as they awaited their much anticipated meeting. The crowd who patronised the inn didn’t change all that much, although as the hours passed it gradually filled up even more. The villagers seemed to have little else to do besides drink, and the lack of conversation combined with the dour locals combined to emphasize the tavern’s already depressing mood.

Arilla was contemplating going to investigate her room's mattress when the doors swung open, bathing the front half of the room in bright daylight. The ranger Tonisim entered along with a much older woman who she could only assume was Steward Kalle. 

Like most of the classers in Cawic, Kalle was old. Hunched forwards like a crone from a story, she seemed so very small. Despite her age, her eyes still glinted with a keen awareness as she hobbled forwards on a thin cane, refusing Tonisim’s arm when he offered it to her.

For the first time since Arilla and Typh had arrived, there was motion amongst the many bar patrons who all promptly excused themselves from the tavern to the loud, disapproving ‘tuts’ of Steward Kalle. The old woman slowly made her way over to their table. The slow clacks of her walking stick gave her a larger than life presence, as the small woman effectively seized the attention of everyone who remained in the room.

“Steward Kalle, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Arilla, and this is Typh. We’re here to help,” Arilla said, standing up to introduce herself with a smile and an extended hand.

“That’s nice dear, but let’s discuss this in the back. It’s more private and I’d hate to deprive Taosid of his business for any longer than is strictly necessary," Kalle said, the venerable woman hobbling past their table with short self-assured steps.

Tonisim merely shrugged as he followed after her, Kalle setting a surprisingly brisk pace towards a door at the far end of the tavern which she promptly opened and disappeared through. When Arilla and Typh eventually passed through that same door, they found themselves in a small, but cosy private room with deep, high-backed armchairs arrayed around a wide, circular table more suited for playing a game of Blind than anything else. There was a deck of cards and stacks of polished stone counters neatly arrayed in the middle of the table, which Kalle casually swept to the side without a care for how they spilled onto the floor.

Kalle had managed to light a long pipe in the few seconds that she’d eked out before their arrival, and was comfortably reclined in a chair, her walking stick leaning against it haphazardly as she lazily blew elaborate smoke rings across the table.

“Most pointless skill I ever took that was," she said, catching Arilla’s eye as the warrior tracked the progress of a smoke ring in the exact shape of a thorned rose. The aged woman smiled widely to reveal a mouthful of brown teeth, the enamel deeply stained from her obvious tobacco habit.

“Do you regret it?” Arilla asked, ducking out of the way of the ring to take her seat.

“Only when it snows. It was this or an aura manipulation skill. Old Horatio, who runs the baths, uses his to keep the air around him warm and dry. Damned if it isn’t the most appealing thing in weather like this," she said.

 

“I’m pretty sure you picked wrong. Auras are far more versatile than whatever it is that lets you make smoke rings," Typh stated, his words, were as ever, about as blunt as a flung brick. 

“Perhaps. It has other uses," Kalle commented, seemingly unoffended as she took a long draw on her pipe, and exhaled twin plumes of smoke through her nose that kept on going for far longer than her inhalation could have possibly allowed for.

“Can we get to the point, Kalle? Preferably before the room completely fills up. Not all of us appreciate your theatrics, or your second-hand smoke," the Ranger complained, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he wafted some of the cloying fumes away from his face.

“Fine, Tonisim, keep your breeches on,” Kalle sighed, before she turned her attention back to the two adventurers. “So, Gautier sent you two. After all this time I’d just about given up hope. What did you two do to piss him off?”

“No-one sent us; your messenger didn’t make it to Rhelea. Typh found his corpse last night when we killed a frost worm attacking our camp,” Arilla explained.

“I see. That is regrettable, Sostias was well liked here. News of his death, however expected, won't go down well," Kalle said.

“So what were you two doing on the road to Trayla in the middle of the winter snows, if it wasn’t to come to our aid?” Tonisim asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“That is none of your concern. We’re here now and you’ve yet to tell us what exactly is going on," Typh said.

The old woman shrugged, before blowing twin streams of curling smoke out through her nose. Kalle smiled at Arilla who felt a chill as she stared back at the incomplete mouthful of brown teeth.  

“Well, mageling, there’s a simple answer to that. Cawic is under siege."

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