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[b][u][center]The Greatest Ambition[/center][/u][/b]

[b][u][center]Part 1[/center][/u][/b]

[b][u][center]for Nataraj[/center][/u][/b]

[b][u][center]by Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]

It was a pathetic fae that dragged itself from the portal to the Feywilds, little more than a glistening creature of light and darkness strewn together like the castoffs of the two Courts. It did not walk, but crawled along the ground, wings rent and ripped apart from its battles to get free, and its struggles to be heard. As the portal shut tight, it almost lost its legs, only dragging itself away at the last second. There it lay, coated in sweat and mud, gasping for breath as it stared at a world so much [i]less[/i] than its own.

No creatures gathered to wail at its grief. No flowers bent their petals in sympathy for its despair. The fae was alone in a world that did not care for its kind, nor would lend aid for its injuries. It was all but helpless.

But all but helpless and truly helpless were two very different things.

After an hour of rest that was hardly restful at all, it pushed itself from its stomach to all fours, and from there to a kneeling position. Its wings, ripped and ragged, flicked out. Black hair stretched out from its scalp, running down, down, down its face until it was nearly a hood, glistening like the feathers of ravens and crows. Hands formerly soft and gentle but made rough from its desperate flight reached to a face that was dirtied and stained from many falls, wiping it clean, using tears as soap and its own hair as rags.

What little magic it had left went into restoring what it had lost. Healing such as it was capable of was cajoled, encouraged, and even forced. The voices of light and darkness, of summer and winter, echoed from its throat as it called to what little magic there was to be found in this empty place. The world responded, and its injuries faded.

There was no going home, so it would do the next best thing. It would bring the power of Faerie to this world, and in the wake of that power, would take what it deserved. No longer a place in the Court of Summer or the Court of Winter, but in its own Court, which would be born here, upon the site of its final defeat.

Here would be born the court of Euphorion, the Court of Twilight.

#

Alarik ducked the latest wagon and its oversized load as it overtook him on the main road, shaking his head but wearing a smile nonetheless. He waved at the wagonmaster, laughing.

"Hey, if you're jousting for travelers, try aiming for them instead of sweeping them out of your way!"

The wagonmaster only grunted in return, but there was a smile on the human's face where it had been merely annoyed and grouchy before. He called that a win.

Shaking his head, he moved further to the edge of the road, giving the endless train of wagons and horse-bound travelers more space. The more that they had, the less likely they were to brain him as they passed, intentionally or not. The other travelers that were luckless enough to be bound to walking rather than riding did the same, those that were able. Some were not.

He shook his head, focusing on the city in the distance. The great convocation of travelers all seemed to be heading to the same place: Al-Shazar, a city of such powerful magical confluence and convergence that no less than fourteen magical schools called it home, and no less than six temples. Guilds from far and near vied for at least a major building in the city, and many had managed to secure headquarters for themselves there.

Was it a great city? Alarik thought so, but he knew that was more due to the various stories that every bard learned about the misdeeds and mocking tales that followed the great people that lived there. It was a poor bard that did not know at least a mocking dozen tales of the city and those in power, and he was hardly a poor bard.

His fingers tapped together, soundless practice for the finger tambourines that he'd use later in the common rooms when he was earning his keep. Provided that there was one where he might earn anything, what with the sheer number of people on the road. He knew that the roads to Al-Shazar would be crowded, but he had not imagined them being this densely packed.

"Get out of the way!"

Now, there was a very clear difference between someone shouting in anger and someone shouting in warning, and this was very much the latter. Alarik, without thinking, threw himself sideways, tumbling and rolling in a handstand off of the road entirely. His colorful cloak of gold and purple flicked out behind him, rippling and rustling as it went.

Just in time, too. Where he stood now stood a very confused, stumbling kenku, cawwing as it fell. It hit the ground, only to be seized by one of the most immaculate orcs that Alarik had ever seen.

And it was not an ill-chosen word, either, but rather, one that fit utterly perfectly for the mountain of muscle tightly wrapped in pale clothing. Large green fingers ended in nails that were polished and cut back, rather than the brutish claws that many orcs had, and the orc's tusks were politely capped off with little balls of metal at the end, framed by a beard that was pulled tight in a severe braid. He stood with his head shaved and oiled, and stood over the kenku with a polite, if firm, grip on the bird's neck.

"You will leave."

That was all the orc said, and then the kenku did. Fleeing far, fleeing fast, right across the road. Several wagons veered left and right to avoid hitting it, but soon, it was out of sight.

Alarik brushed his cloak over his shoulder, turning it into a bow and a flourish before the other man.

"I thank you for your aid, though I don't understand what happened."

"You were to be the victim of a thief. His fingers hovered just above your pockets."

"Ah, then I have much to thank you for, for though I am poor in goods, I treasure each greatly."

"There are no thanks necessary."

"Ah, but there are."

He smiled as he lifted his head, meeting the orc's eyes. There was a hint of annoyance and bemusement mixed together, and he understood. There was a sense that the orc believed that he was being mocked, which was far from the case. Alarik ceased his drama, leaving his hands at his sides.

"I merely wish to thank you for allowing me to keep my goods. May I walk with you?"

"Do you seek a guide, or a guard?"

"Merely a friend."

"Then you may accompany me."

They set off down the road, and for a time, they walked in silence. Alarik judged that, much as he might wish to speak to this stranger, his words were not yet welcome. Part of being a bard was to know when to speak, as well as how to speak, and the when had not yet arrived.

As they moved closer and closer to Al-Shazar, the gleaming city rose higher and higher in their view. The great walls of the city stood like layered mountains, soaring dozens of feet over the rest of the city, and each of the four layers seemed higher than the one that came before. It was illusion, of course, for there was not enough stone in all the kingdom to allow for such work, but it was an effective illusion, nonetheless.

What was not an illusion were the spires of the great merchant palaces, guild halls, and city officials. They soared, coming up points either triangular or rounded, depending on its owner, and the city seemed to be ruled over by the shimmering baubles of power that reflected the wealth of those that lived just below them.

It was a city of beauty, and Alarik looked forward to passing through it.

Eventually, they joined the line of travelers at the gate, the many people in a hurry forced to slow and find a place just like those that they had tried to overtake at the last minute. Seeing the overworked guards at the gate channeling them into six different lines, each one moving as fast as they could, Alarik chuckled.

"This amuses you?" the orc asked.

"I'm just surprised that it's six rather than seven."

"What difference would it make, with so many travelers?"

"One would think that they would want more luck."

"You believe in such things?"

"Oh, indeed. Six is too few, eight is too much, but seven is juuuuuust right."

"...I see."

"And the fact that you happen to be seven feet tall certainly adds to your attraction," he added with a small chuckle.

"...I cannot tell if you are jesting or flirting."

"Heh, which one keeps my head on my shoulders?"

"Both."

"...Let's flip a coin, shall we?" Alarik said, pulling a copper piece from his pocket. "Heads, I was, tails, I was not."

The orc nodded, and he flipped the coin. It went up, and he caught it on the way back down. As he turned it on the back of his hand, he resisted the urge to twist it to be exactly what he wanted, and already knew that the answer wasn't what he wanted. He lifted his hand to reveal the other side.

"It appears I wasn't."

"Then my vow of abstinence remains intact," the orc said.

"If I realized it was at risk, I would have been tempted to flirt anyway."

"There are times that temptation rears its head. What is your name?"

"Alarik, showman and historian. And yourself?"

"Jazak. Jazak Grimtusk."

"Well, my good Grimtusk, perhaps you will allow yourself to be accompanied by me for a while longer? I must find an inn to ply my trade, and from there, I hope to find a living for a few days, at least."

"Perhaps for a time. I will see your show, but then, I must report."

"I wasn't aware that the Iron Fist had a monastery here..."

"You have a good eye. They do not, but they have tasked me with looking into a certain rumor."

"Perhaps you will share this rumor with me."

"Perhaps I shall, Alarik. Perhaps I shall."

Knowing that he had made at least a small impact on the powerful orc, Alarik closed his mouth. It was once again time for silence.

#

Their travels through the city were eventful, though not particularly significant. Twice a pickpocket attempted to do what the kenku failed to do, and both failed, once through the interference of Jazak, and once through Alarik's mocking song that chased the pickpocket away after his abject failure. They were harassed by street gangs until they flashed small weapons, and ogled and made offers by the street women. Both of them declined, moving on without spending their coin, though in Alarik's case, it was at least as much due to the fact that he did not have coin to spend as not wishing to buy their company.

They passed four different inns before settling on one that looked sufficient to their needs. They were dismissed, the inn already full to bursting, and the same fate followed at the succeeding eleven inns. They were on their thirteenth - at which point Alarik was ready to give in and sleep in the alleys rather than risk Unlucky Thirteen - when Jazak came to an abrupt halt.

"Is something the matter?" Alarik asked.

"I just realized how far we've come. The city center is just ahead, is it not?"

Alarik had been more intrigued with his companion than the rest of the city around him, but now that he took a look back down the road they'd followed, he realized that the gate to the Western Road was far behind, and the pennants of the various buildings had taken on a different hue, looking more and more like the richer part of the city that belonged to the locals rather than the rougher flags and wooden signs that decorated the Foregate and the outer parts. As he leaned back into the flow of foot traffic, he could just make out an end of the street ahead, and it opened on something large, certainly.

"I think you're right, Jazak. That seems to be the Grand Plaza ahead."

"May I beg of you a favor?"

"You may beg many things, oh savior of my purse," Alarik said with a chuckle.

"You jest, but my task is just ahead. Would you wait for me?"

"Or, a thought, I may accompany you."

"That is hardly necessary."

"But perhaps it may be useful."

"...It may be, at that. Come with me, then."

The orc carved a path through the crowd with his sweeping arms, aggressive, but not angry or overly forceful. He grunted from time to time, and there were moments when Alarik was all but sure that the orc would be ready to burst into a rage to push further into the crowd, but so far, he did not. The smaller bard followed immediately behind him, taking advantage of the holes that he cut through the crowd, and using that to keep up with what would otherwise be an impossible pace to match.

When they broke through the crowd into the Grand Plaza, Alarik was stunned to see how much the place matched its name. Streets from all parts of the city emptied here, and the plaza itself was massive, stretching what had to be hundreds, if not thousands of paces from one end to the other. A great octagon in shape, it was bordered by shops and palaces, and the palaces themselves were surrounded by low walls that were imitations of the great walls that split the different neighborhoods of Al-Shazar apart. Here and there, a palace was replaced by a guild hall - here one for sorcerers, there one for rangers - and they loomed over the plaza itself like wooden or stone jewels, polished and glittering with their presence and power.

It was a marked difference from his small village, and even the bard college where he had spent the last few years. Yes, the latter had been a step up in his life, but this was something else again, something that felt like it was going from the pigsties of the world to the palaces. He turned slowly, barely able to keep up with Jazak as they took a quick turn to the left, following the edge of the plaza.

Ignoring the market set up in the center and the great castle-fortress that the entire city was built around, Jazak led them further and further around the border until they found another small crowd, this one gathered so tightly around a central point that it was impossible to see what they were staring at. Even the tall orc could not peer over so many heads at once, and for the first time, Alarik saw the impatience on his acquaintance's face.

"Is this important?" he asked.

"Perhaps of the utmost import."

"And you just need to see?"

"Yes."

"May I commit an indignity, then?"

"...Does it break the law?"

"Only the laws of personal space," Alarik said.

"Then feel free."

He nodded, and with permission, took leave to climb up the orc's back. The monk yelped, grunting as the young man clambered up, eventually reaching the orc's shoulders. He balanced himself there, standing tall and looking down on the other side of the crowd.

"Mmmph...I did not expect you to climb [i]me.[/i]"

"I'm sorry, but you [i]were[/i] the most convenient perch."

"And certainly, that is [i]all[/i] that matters."

"It works. Now, shush."

After all, despite his practice, there was only so much ease one could have while only balancing with their legs. The orc's shoulders were broad and thick with muscle, true, but they were moving, and every time that Jazak shifted position, he had to do the same to avoid being tipped over. But he could see, and that was the important thing.

The crowd, apparently, surrounded a tall, lean man that sat at a broad desk. The stranger was strange, indeed, stranger than Jazak had been by some way. His face was pulled tight, almost like his entire expression came to a single point at the tip of his nose. It took a second and a third look to be sure that he didn't have as long a nose as he looked to have, and a fourth to be sure that his face was not actually so sharp that it might cut someone if they came too close, but it was so strange to see someone that had such strong lines in their face.

But there was something odder than that, odder than the hair that hung over his face and shrouded him like a churchman's hood of worship. It was the eyes that did it, bright and young yet deep and old at the same time, glittering beneath eyebrows that seemed to call one to stare at him, to hold his gaze and look at him. He looked up as Alarik looked down, and their eyes met, and -

And then he was falling, falling, falling.

Jazak caught him with ease, but it still took the young man a moment to collect himself. He felt dizzy, barely able to get to his feet as he was lifted up. His legs felt as if they would fall out from under him, and for a moment, he felt like the smallest thing to ever exist, like his entire life, his entire being, was nothing but an infinitely small moment that would never appear in history ever after.

And then the moment passed, his heart beating again, and he caught his breath. Jazak patted his back, the orc's face writ with concern.

"What happened?"

"I...don't know," Alarik said, shaking his head. "But..."

He looked back at the crowd. They were as entranced as he had been with the dark-haired man behind the desk, but they at least hadn't fallen over. Something had happened with him that was not happening with them. Shaking his head, he nodded to the side streets.

"Let's talk over there...away from here."

"Yes."

"And you can tell me why you were looking for him in the first place."

#

They returned to the inn that they'd abandoned. Unlucky Thirteen had turned out to be lucky, after all, with four rooms still available. With so much to discuss, Alarik and Jazak elected to share a room for the night, and no sooner had they paid the elven innkeeper than they went upstairs.

The Dragon's Hoard, the inn called itself. Well, in Alarik's mind, the hoard had been plundered years ago, with nothing left but the trappings and fastenings that might have once held the gold and jewels. The walls were dull, faded, though not dirty. The wooden panels, though they looked as if they had once shone with an inner light that had been polished out, were as dark and dank as one could imagine. It was like walking into darkness rather than into light as they went around the corner and up the stairs to their room.

The room itself, at least, was well-lit, with a sturdy oak door between them and the outside world. Alarik went to the single bed in the room and sat down, rubbing his forehead as he tried to gather his scattered thoughts. Something about that man, that very strange man, still lingered, and a fascination that he could not explain had settled on his thoughts.

"Are you alright?" Jazak asked.

"I'll be okay...just might need a minute." He shook his head. "Who was that?"

"...We've heard several names for that man. Sometimes they call him a lord, at other times a merchant. Once or twice, we've heard him called a priest, though never for long."

"A con artist?"

"That is one concern."

"So...why is the order of the Iron Fist taking an interest?" Alarik asked. "I would imagine that you'd just pass that information on to the City Watch."

"That is part of the problem. He is a patron of theirs."

"..."

Jazak shook his head, the orc walking around the room, pacing before he reached the window. He leaned against the frame, glancing out at the gap that led back to the Plaza.

"Four monks have disappeared, and the last that was known of them was that they met with him."

"And who is he?"

"The only common name that we hear is E. Every new identity that he takes on starts with the same letter, and it is always his face in the descriptions. But he is responsible for the deaths of four of my order, and I've been sent to find out just what he wants, and how he keeps getting them killed."

"...You say, getting them killed," Alarik said, cocking his head to the side. "You don't think that he's directly responsible?"

"It's possible, but unlikely. All four, while new members of the order, were hardly inexperienced. They were well-trained, and hardy. You saw him; he could not simply kill them himself."

As much as Alarik would like to agree, he found that he could not. The look in those eyes, the impossibility of his features, the way that the stranger had fixed him with such a feeling of helplessness and infinitesimal smallness still lingered, and it left him trembling. Whatever that man was, he was [i]not[/i] human.

The orc shook his head, turning away from the window, and Alarik put his suppositions to the side. As much as any bard would chase a good story, one could not simply put the world aside. Evidence was needed before he could argue against the orc's suppositions, and it was clear that Jazak was there to find evidence. As much as he could, from how seriously he was taking this.

"So, how do you plan to find out?" Alarik asked.

"My orders were to find him and see what he has done since our last member disappeared. After that, I was to make a decision of how to proceed."

"...And you don't have a clue, do you?"

"I am afraid I do not."

That was telling. The orc sat down, sighing and rubbing his forehead as he got comfortable on the one chair in the room. He huffed hard, his hand drawing down from his forehead to his nose to his beard, and from there he started tugging, slowly, idly pulling on it. It was not the gentle caress of some scholars, but the sharp tug of someone that was annoyed with himself for not having the answer that he wanted.

It was a familiar feeling. He'd tugged his hair just like that at one point. Shaking his head, he leaned forward.

"Well, I might have a suggestion."

"I am..." Jazak paused. "You are not one of those tricksters that will take something I say and make it real, are you?"

"Do I look like I have that power?"

"You [i]did[/i] climb me like a tree."

"That's what a squirrel would do, not a spirit."

"True. Then I am all ears for suggestions."

"Why don't we sign up for whatever he's sending everyone else to do?"

Jazak arched an eyebrow. Alarik just pushed on.

"It seems reasonable enough to me. He looks concerned enough that he wouldn't just say what he wants right there in the open, and it seemed like people were coming in groups just large enough to be considered 'adventuring parties'. He's clearly offering something that they want, and he clearly wants something bad enough to offer payment for it. Maybe he's not deliberately sending monks to their deaths; perhaps this is just a very dangerous mission."

"..."

"And if that's the case, he won't talk about it until he knows that he has someone that he can send after it. He wouldn't want to scare us off, after all."

"...That...is likely true."

"But once he knows that we're interested, he can tell us, and then you'll know where he's sent the other members of your order."

Jazak didn't respond. Instead, he leaned back, shaking his head slowly as he pressed his hand deeper into his beard. His face was obvious, hardly the expression of anyone skilled at lying. If anything, he looked like an open book, thinking about the dangers and the possibilities ahead.

As for himself, Alarik was thinking of those eyes. Those deep, strange, too young and too old eyes. They had consumed his imagination, and despite the fear that they'd left behind, they'd sparked a greater curiosity. He wanted to know what was behind that. He [i]needed[/i] to know what he had seen.

"I will need more people. Three more."

"Two," Alarik said.

"I cannot ask you to join me in this."

"Who said you were asking? I'm volunteering."

"This will be dangerous. You are not trained for this."

"I do not believe you know just how I am trained," he said, smiling despite himself. "I can hold my own, good Grimtusk. Think about who else you need, rather than consider how to replace me."

The raised eyebrow on the orc's face made it clear that Jazak didn't quite believe him, but Alarik didn't push to justify himself any further. He knew his worth, and he knew just how much he brought to the table. Not just skills in the arts of music, but also all the power of bardic knowledge and education, and a great deal of acrobatics, as well. What he might lack in the talents of a true thief, he more than made up for in all other areas.

"What else do we need?" he asked.

"...Traditionally, one should have a warrior, a thief, a caster, and a healer."

"Well, let's not be too worried about tradition. We are making our own story here," he said, tapping his chin. "And you more than suffice as a warrior, and as I've said, I'm more than sufficient for a thief."

"Are you so lawless?"

"I'm quite a law unto myself, of course, but that's just a role to play. I can abide by the conditions of the group, of course."

"You had better..."

He had already moved past the subject in his mind, thinking about the other roles that they might need for a convincing party. As Jazak had said, the traditional line-up still required a caster of some sort, as well as a healer. There were ways to combine the two, but most of those were more on the problematic side, with less focus in either role meaning that they both suffered.

And if he were to pick one that he most definitely didn't wish to shortchange them on, that would be a caster. There were ways to supplement healing, and there were many that could both heal and fight, but to sell oneself short on a good caster was to deny too many different opportunities. Alarik could imagine too many situations where a wizard would have been the exact tool that they needed to get past a puzzle or an enemy, and not having it would mean that they'd have to improvise. And while he was quite the dedicated patron of all things improvised, he would not say that he approved of it in the field when one's life was on the line.

So, a caster. Preferably a wizard. And that left the healer.

"...I believe that I have a solution," Alarik said.

"But we've barely started talking about it," Jazak said. "How could you -"

"I'm very good. Believe it or not."

"...I'm starting to." The orc nodded. "Perhaps it was more than mere chance that allowed us to meet on the road."

"Perhaps, or maybe I'm just very good at attracting the attention of interesting people." He chuckled. "At any rate, there are two mage guilds around the Plaza. One for wizards, one for sorcerers. I'll go see if there's anyone for hire there, or at least, anyone that's interested in joining up without an immediate fee."

"And I?"

"Why don't you go check out some of the local paladins?"

"...A force of light and law on our side. Not a bad idea."

"I have my moments."

Alarik smiled, getting to his feet. With a plan, he felt better. As a matter of fact, he felt positively grand. The act of doing things, of preparing for this grand expedition, helped him fight back against that lingering sense of insignificance, and it left him feeling human again rather than a mere footnote in the annals of history. He would prove that feeling wrong, by all that was good and wonderful. He would.

"Meet back here in two hours?" he asked.

"That should be sufficient," Jazak said. "I will be here."

"As will I, with the best wizard that I can find."

#

They both found someone, though it was perhaps not what they expected to find.

Alarik returned with an elf wizrard only an inch shorter than himself, with long white hair that seemed to shift and sway on currents and winds that were not there, and with eyes so pale that they looked almost blind. Her name was Rosalind, and she said little when she was introduced, merely bowing her head and then sitting down once more. The common room's eyes were all on her, refusing to look away, nor could Alarik blame them. She was a very striking figure, and even he found it difficult not to stare.

Jazak's find, however, was quite a bit more vocal. The halfling stood up, showing off a surprising bit of height for her species - she broke the four-foot barrier, after all - and she stood with her head tossed back and red hair going down to her neck.

"Good to meet you, everyone. Jazak told me about this little problem of yours. I intend to make sure that you all come back safe and sound. The name's Therwyn, Therwyn Great Willow."

"A sound name," Rosalind said.

"Indeed, and a name that rings loud and true among the halfling people. You can count on me. I shall be the shield of your group, and Jazak will be its fist."

"And I its feet, apparently," Alarik said with a small chuckle. "And Rosalind it's eyes. What a group. What a group."

The others bit off a chuckle, even Jazak, and he knew that it would be alright. If they could laugh at his stupid jokes, then they were well on their way to being able to work together properly.

"So, what now?" Therwyn asked. "Do we have our quest, or -"

"We still have to get it." Alarik glanced at Jazak, only to receive a slight shake of the head. The orc hadn't told the paladin just what they were doing just yet, only that they were on a quest. He took the lead from that. "We wanted to make sure that we didn't overestimate ourselves."

"A sound decision," Therwyn said, nodding her head as sagely as possible and nearly falling off her chair in the process. "But now that you have us, there should be no problem."

"It...might still be wise to look for more," Rosalind said. "Hirelings, at least. There are many dangers -"

"We can handle it," Therwyn said, grinning.

They probably could, though Alarik wouldn't have minded a few more people along anyway. There were always advantages to having more eyes and ears on a situation, provided that they didn't come with too many tongues to go with them. That said, he could already tell that Jazak wanted to keep this small, not letting it get too far out of control. The smaller a group they worked with, the less likely it was that E would figure out that they already knew that there was something off about him. They could work more surreptitiously, and that meant that they could bring down the hammer when the time came without one of their own blurting out what they were actually doing and scaring him off.

That said...

Alarik couldn't deny that he had his own fascination for the task, now. It wasn't just figuring out who E was, though that was part of it. He wanted to be closer to the stranger, to find out more about this mystery that he had, but also just...

He didn't know. There was just [i]something[/i] there that held his attention, something that made him both scared and a little aroused to think about. It was like he was ensorcelled, almost, but when he had asked Rosalind to check, there was no such magic on him. Whatever this was, it was as natural as nature itself, and that was part of what worried him.

Because that man...that man was not natural.

"So, when do we get our quest?" Therwyn asked.

"Right now," Jazak said. "Let's go talk to our...sponsor."

[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]

Summary: A prologue of a long adventure, following a D&D party across a world of powerful magic.

Tags: No Sex, Human, Orc, Elf, Halfling, Fae, D&D, Fantasy, Magic, Party, Series,